


Red Sky - A Hunger Games Fanfic

by thedepartedsweetly



Series: Skyfall - Hunger Games [1]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Careers (Hunger Games), Careers Have Issues (Hunger Games), District 12 (Hunger Games), District 2 (Hunger Games), Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, M/M, Original Character(s), Pre-Hunger Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 23,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27444136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedepartedsweetly/pseuds/thedepartedsweetly
Summary: Red Sky at night, sailors delight. Red Sky in the morning, sailors take warning.
Relationships: Original Character/Original Character
Series: Skyfall - Hunger Games [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123043
Comments: 96
Kudos: 11
Collections: The Hiraeth Timeline





	1. Prologue - Weeping Flowers

There’s a special flower in the District 12 Meadow. They call it the Weeping Flower, for its tear shaped leaves and blue petals. No on everyone seemed to question who they were. 

‘The mountain folk,’ his father scoffed. His mother had winked. ‘The Covey.’

She was like the Weeping Flower, with her willowy limbs and curved spine, Her nature was delicate, and it didn’t surprise anyone when the frost took her. Flowers don’t survive in the cold. 

He wanted the Weeing Flowers for her funeral, so at ten years old, all gangly legs and gapped teeth, he crawled under the fence into the meadow. He’d be shot and killed if he was found but he was not quite old enough to question his own invincibility. 

It was a cold winter day, the kind that cut trough the threadbare cloth he’d wrapped around his feet. They crunched through the thin layer of frost that coated the green in glittering diamonds. He’d die soon if he didn’t get back, and he was just about to give up when he found them. 

A clump of flowers, poking hesitantly out of the ground as if they weren’t quite sure they were allowed to…exist yet, and a dead mouse.The mouse’s teeth were stained the same blue of the flowers.

He learned, on that day, that Weeping Flowers are incredibly poisonous. He also learned that mouse can be easily mistaken for chicken when roasted on a fire and fed to one’s starving sister.


	2. The Reaping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edits made:  
> \- I realized the timeline I'd created with my friend didn't make sense so Gabe is now Baby, 13 years old. Cath is 12  
> \- Made some changes so the dialogue sounds more natural  
> \- Susie isn't a distant cousin of gaebs anymore coz that doesnt make any sense lol

The Reaping day was similarly cold, and a vase of Weeping Flowers sat on the bedside.

He woke up early as always, tangled in threadbare blankets, arms wrapped around his sister. She was terrified, he knew. But not for herself. At age twelve, her name was only in the reaping pool one times, and his twice. But he’d taken tesserae, one every month while their father’s wealth slowly crumbled, and at this point his name was in there closer to one hundred times.

One hundred little paper slips bearing his name, printed neater than he could ever hope to write it, and each holding the potential to end his short, miserable life.

He sat up with a groan, ignoring Cindy grumbling about how cold she was. Reaping day. Routine.

Get up, get ready, hair slicked back like his father preferred and a hunting knife in his boot. Ready to meet Cath!

Not that he was worried she’d stab him but…well it was good to have during his daily illegal activities of hunting with his best friend, well, it was good to have. Not like he’d have a chance if he was caught by the peacekeepers, but it was comforting to have.

The district was silent, most people choosing to sleep in on this hellish day and Gabe didn’t blame them. He also partially appreciated it because it meant well…less people to see when he snuck under the fence and took the familiar path to the meadow.

“Hey Cath!” He said cheerfully, seeing his friend sitting at their usual spot. It was a forced cheerfulness, but it was better than the both of them wallowing in the situation.

“I hate you,” she sneered, but it was with no real malice, and she smiled when he sat next to her.

“Are you ready for the holiday?” He asked sarcastically, carefully monitoring her expression. The both of them had far too many slips in due to the Tesserae and he wanted to know if today was a ‘pretend the games don’t exist’ day or a ‘rail against the capital and complain about our place in the world’ kind of day. Her face was closed off and pensive. So it was a ‘pretend the games don’t exist’ kind of day. “Ripper got me booze,” he amended, holding up the pale liquid that had the potency to burn your eyebrows off. Was it questionable for Ripper to sell alcohol to two young kids? Probably. 

“Oh thank fuck,” she said, grabbing the bottle. “Bottoms-fucking-up.”

So that was how he spent the morning of his reaping; getting piss drunk with his best friend. He’d had worse mornings, some of them ended with the two of them sobbing. Others, beating each other up. He’d take the alcohol.

When the sun crested the horizon, turning the field bloodred, he knew it was time to go.

“Red sky at night, sailors delight,” Gabe slurred. “Red sky n’the morning, sailors take warning.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Cath giggled. Gabe shrugged. He didn’t even know what a sailor was, it was just another rhyme his mother learned from the so called ‘Covey.’ “You n’ your rhymes, I never know what the fuck you’re sayin’.”

“Oh please, you’re jus’ a dumbass,” he snorted. Cath punched his shoulder, before seemingly going serious.

“Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you at the reaping.”

-

Cindy always wore one of their mother’s old dresses for the reaping. It was a pretty pale grey thing, with a white bow in the back. Their father always said Cindy looked the most like their mother, so her standing there in the kitchen with her chestnut hair braided in weeping flowers, that was the closest he’d ever get to seeing his mother.

“You look beautiful,” he said, smiling softly. She smiled back, crossing her arms a bit uncomfortably.

“You’re not too bad yourself.”

“Heh…thanks.” all he’d done was change into one of his father’s old shirts and a slightly less threadbare pair of pants, but he appreciated the compliment. Despite the fat that they were a bit too small on his too-tall-for-his-age frame. “Ready to go?” Cindy nodded somberly, taking his offered hand.

The town center felt somber, as he fell into line with the other eligible children. Cindy kept a tight hold on his hand until the crowd forced them apart. The peacekeepers grabbed his thumb, forcing the needle under his skin to collect the blood sample. For a moment he was mesmerized by the rusty smear next to his name. So much red today. Then he was shuffled back with the rest of the thirteen year old boys.

He noticed, with some comfort, that Cindy was able to stand next to Cath with the other twelve year old girls. Cath put an arm around her and gave him a thumbs up, before making a rude gesture at one of the peacekeepers. One she’d never make while sober. He stifled a chuckle as the mayor began the Treaty of Treason, prattling on about the sacrifice of the tributes. It was the same bullshit every year, and he tuned it out until the capitol sponsor wobbled onstage with her ridiculously tall heels. A wonder she didn’t fall over.

A dull ringing had started in his ears, as if his body was trying to protect him from hearing the names of the children who would be sent to slaughter. The woman’s nails seemed to scratch the side of the reaping pool as she drew the first slip of paper. So perfectly folded, so unnatural. The name sounded fuzzy but the girl obviously heard because she stumbled to the stage.

He knew the female tribute. He'd seen her in school. In his quiet, numb, horror, all he could process was that she looked like a deer, wide eyes and trembling, her skinny limbs not seeming to move quite right. Yet he barely had time to process the thought ‘thank god it’s not Cindy,’ before rough hands grabbed him.

Peacekeepers?

Why? What were they doing? Why were they leading him to the stage?

And then he processed the other name they’d called.

Gabriel Douglass.

Suddenly he was on the stage, in the spotlight, there were hands on him, oh god. He’d known that he had an incredibly high chance to be chosen but…well he’d never processed that it really could be him. That this could really happen. That he'd be thrown into the arena to be hacked apart and killed. 

He wasn’t on the stage anymore, he was in a room. A nice room. The chair was velvet, and he dimly realized he was in shock. Fuck.

Cindy was the first to enter. Why was she here? Oh yeah…they gave friends and loved ones a chance to say goodbye. Because they needed to say goodbye. Because now he was dying. A walking corpse.

His sister couldn’t speak for her minute, just wildly sobbing a clutching his shirt until the peacekeepers dragged her away. He was still silent, wide eyed.

Then Cath came in, swaying slightly.

“You're a dumb fucking bastard, you know that?!" Her voice was harsh, harsher than it had to be. Anger and sadness was not a good combination. It never was. "You pushed your damn luck with the tesserae! You knew it! So why the hell- why the hell-"

Her mask of anger broke, and the held back tears welled at her eyes without her consent.

"You better come back safe."

When he came to consciousness again he was on the train, approaching the capitol. It glittered, opulent and beautiful, and all he wanted was to tear it down with his bare hands.


	3. The Chariot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edits:
> 
> \- changed some dialogue

Gabe had always considered himself an attractive person. He was well built, taller than the average seam kid, and despite his rather crooked nose from years of getting punched in the face by Cath, the rest of his features were...fairly uniform and...well, nice.

Attractive.

At least, that was until his prep team decided literally everything about him was wrong.

He felt nauseous, sitting naked in a bath of some acidic liquid, listening to a gaggle of strangely dressed people contemplate if they should re-break his nose to straighten it out again. He wasn’t used to being naked in front of people, and it was almost like it didn’t bother them? As if he wasn’t another person, just...a doll. A funny little thing to dress up. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why they were going through all the pageantry. Not when they were already deciding to kill him anyway.

They didn’t even bother to warn him when they did it, all gloved hands and hushed voices, grabbing his face and smashing a pretty silver hammer down on his nose with a sickening crack.

He screamed.

-

 _Wasn’t a stylist supposed to make you look nice?_ Gabe mused miserably, several hours later. He tapped his feet on the floor anxiously. If his ego had taken a beating earlier, it was dead on the floor now, standing next to the female tribute in the cavernous Remake Center right outside the City Circle. He was still completely nude, except this time covered with coal dust. It was utterly humiliating. And awful. His stylist had prowled forward with glittering eyes and it made him feel less human than he ever had. Not a person, so much as a commodity. A body to sell to the capital.

And wasn’t that what they were? Just endless fodder for the slaughter. So why not show them off in their most base form. Just give the audience a better view.

The other tributes scoffed at the two of them, seeming like glittering gods while they looked like something Prometheus pulled from the bottom of his shoe. Somewhere down the line, they’d decided baggy mining outfits weren’t memorable enough. Sure it was tradition, but why wear clothes when you could just...not.

He didn’t look at the girl out of courtesy, but he could hear her sniffling. Damn, she shouldn’t be crying. This would make her look so much worse, weaker and easier to pick out when the actual hell started. “Stop crying,” he hissed, his voice echoing softly against the cheers from the crowd outside. Her breath caught in surprise. “You’ll look even more pathetic.” It was worse for her wasn’t it? At least he was reasonably well fed. She looked like a damn corpse.

“Does it matter? I’m going to die anyway.”

“Maybe you are. But it doesn’t help anyone to cry.”

“What else can I do?” She groaned, with the defeated tone of someone who had already surrendered. Gabe gritted his teeth and shook his head. _You can fight. You can at least try._ Oh well. One less competitor for him, he supposed. And immediately hated himself for it. She was just a girl. A twelve year old girl, the same as his sister. _His sister. S_ he couldn’t keep breathing if he was to make it back home to his sister, so he just grabbed her arm roughly and climbed onto the chariot.

The opening music blasted through the room, and he did his best to hold his head high. Maybe the coal dust would mask his pale face, or the bruises from his impromptu nose surgery. Maybe he wouldn’t have to look so pathetic.

As the District Twelve horses galloped out into the city circle, there was almost a noticeable change in mood. From almost reverent excitement to shock. And amusement. And then just open mockery. His cheeks burned so hard they ached, but he refused to lower his head. Goddammit, he’d finish the parade with his eyes wide open. He raised his arm. And waved.  
At first the laughter hesitated, and started back up again. But this time perhaps less mean-spirited. He felt ill. What was it Cath always said, whenever she came back from school, red marks raised on her face? ‘Own it.’ So he did. If he was going to be a laughing stock in front of all of Panem, then by god, he’d be a memorable one.

After god knows how long of being paraded through the streets like cattle before the slaughter, the training center loomed ahead. A gaping maw ready to swallow them whole. They were in the city circle proper, surrounded by screens on all sides as the National Anthem pumped through the speakers. While it was clear the broadcasters were trying to cut evenly between all the districts, it was clear that district twelve was being favored. Gabe couldn’t hold in a retch.

Finally. After an _eternity_. The chariots happily paraded into the training center. The prep teams swarmed them as the district twelve stylist-tigris?-helped the girl down. She collapsed on the floor in a heap, openly weeping, and trying her best to cover herself with her hands. After he’d finished dry heaving over the side of the chariot, Gabe cast a look around, openly hostile towards any tribute who gave her a second glance.

She didn’t stop crying. He placed a hand on her shoulder, still averting his eyes. “You did good.” He said. Honestly what else was there to say.

“No, I didn’t. I couldn’t stop-I just kept fucking crying. You’re right. I looked weak.”

“Yeah. But you were strong. Not many people could stay up there like you did, without...hurling themselves over the side.” She just wailed louder in response. “Hey...what’s your name?” She turned to face him, wide eyed and red faced.

“S-susie.”

“Alright. Susie. Susie, it’s okay. You did good. You did the best anyone could expect of you.” She cracked a smile that he hesitantly returned. First one he’d seen since arriving there.

“And I’m still gonna die.”


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edits:  
> \- changed some dialogue

Cath thought she was angry before.

She thought it hurt to see her best friend dragged onto the stage and sent to his death. Well it did, it _did_ hurt; her stomach had dropped to her fucking feet. And contrary to what she expected, she didn't cry. Because all of her sadness was being carefully parcel away into anger. Anger stored for...well. Something. Something important, she could sense it. Yeah, the reaping had hurt because it forced more anger into her already poisoned heart. But it didn’t hurt like this. They were supposed to get a break when they went to the capital, right? A nice, pretty vacation. A respectful funeral. They were supposed to get...time. They were supposed to be well fed and well clothed and trained.

Not made a laughing stock in front of the entire country.

That just wasn’t supposed to happen.

Watching the mandatory broadcast at first, she wasn’t sure if she was seeing things right. It was just...too wrong. Too unbelievable. Yes, the capitol sent children to their deaths yearly, but this was just too much. Something she didn't think they'd dare. Even the dead tributes corpse's received more respect than this. A simple headshot would do instead of their prone body.

The female tribute was twelve.

Her father asked if she was okay, and that was when she realized she was gripping their tattered couch so hard that her knuckles had turned white. She was grinding her teeth, and violently bouncing her leg. The opening ceremony was mandatory viewing and it was past curfew. But despite her father’s protests, she ran. She fucking ran with murderous intent. Through the dark streets, past the worn down homes and the massive chainlink fence that separated her home from her salvation. At some point she couldn't run anymore, her legs aching, and she realized she was in the meadow. Of course she was in the meadow. It was all she had, wasn’t it? She was so angry. So fucking angry, she couldn’t handle it.

Poor girl, poor Gabe, poor _Cindy._

She tore her hands through her hair, and started screaming. Yelling, wailing, just so furious she couldn’t think of a single other outlet. First they’d stolen and murdered her friend and then they’d made him a joke. “ _FUCK_.”

-

_They were in the meadow, still unsure of straying too far from the fence. Cindy stood as lookout on the other side, too timid to follow them. Gabe was trying to explain something about poisonous plants, messing around with some strange, prickly bush. Cath was not paying attention, half asleep in the summer sun, lying in the scruffy, half-dead, grass._

_She hadn’t yet decided that she liked Gabe, in fact he was rather irritating; he was a peacekeeper’s son, recently from District Two and had far more money than anyone in the District. So she’d indulge him, if only for the free food he always seemed to acquire, but she didn’t feel much need to listen to his weird lessons and deal with his suck-up, stuck-up attitude._

_“Are you even listening?” He snapped, a now familiar irritation creasing his brow and interrupting the normal tranquil expression he sought for. He clearly was trying to copy his father in that manner, seeming friendly to everyone, knowing what they wanted. But he was too emotional, and Cath thought it was kind of funny. She couldn't help snickering, rolling onto her stomach._

_“No.” She hummed, pulling her sweaty dreadlocks behind her hair. “I don’ really get your obsession with leaves.”_

_“It’s not leaves,” He protested angrily. “They’re important to know if you're foraging for food, since it seems like everyone in this shithole is starving. I'm trying to help ya.” Cath scowled, now sharing in his irritation. Jesus, he shouldn't sound so smug, considering his father being in district twelve was clearly a demotion._

_“May I remind you,” Cath snapped, “That you live in this shithole now too?”_

_“Oh, please.” He said smugly. “When dad gets his promotion we’ll be right back to district two and we wont have to deal with the likes of you.” Cath’s eyes turned flinty. Fat fucking. chance._

_“Excuse me?”_

_“Well s’true. Everyone from the Seam is just kinda-”_

_Her fist came flying for his stupid perfect nose before he could finish his sentence. He choked, stumbling back, before catching himself on a tree stump and jumping back at her. They both ignored Cindy's cries, absolutely beating the hell out of each other. The oppressive heat made it difficult to keep going for long, before they collapsed next to each other, soaked in sweat and bloodied. Gabe started laughing first. Then Cath. They’d been nearly inseparable after that._

-

It was midnight.

Cath showed up at the Douglass residence, sweaty and shaky. It was pretty shitty. In their youth, they’d lived in a much nicer home...until their father’s cruelty had shifted out of favor. Though it _was_ crawling with peacekeepers so she’d been careful on the trek over. She crept towards Cindy’s dingy window, tapping on it lightly. The broadcast should be over now, and Cindy would be asleep. Or so she hoped, because she highly doubted she could get back to her home a second time without getting caught...she hoped her father wasn’t worrying too much.

Thankfully, Cindy’s owlish hazel eyes appeared in the filthy haze. With quick, hushed movements, she let Cath into the room. “Hey.” She rasped. She’d been crying too. They didn’t have to speak, they were both thinking the same thing: _How the hell could he win now?_

Cath didn’t reply, slumping onto her bed, and covering her face in her hands. Cindy paused by the window before joining her. It was far past dawn before the peacekeepers came looking for her.


	5. The Mentor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits:
> 
> \- changed some dialogue

Once inside the training center, he scrubbed his skin raw. Everywhere that stupid black dust could remain, he burned in boiling hot water. And then he just sat on the floor of the shower and cried. It was good that the tears were coming now, he supposed, as he shook violently. It was probably better now than on the chariot like Susie.

But the more he thought, the worse it got. Because that had been broadcasted to _all_ of Panem. He retched again, and this time, stuff came up. Fucking christ, if he kept this up, he’d be a skeleton before he reached the arena.

He shook his head, struggling to calm down and push himself to his feet. He used the advice he'd given Susie; at least _try._ Focus on the things around him. The plush carpet. The bay window. The wardrobe. His Training Center Quarters were almost familiar, and it took him a while to dredge up a memory. Yes, he had stayed somewhere like this; probably in district two. He could imagine his mother moving through the lush surroundings, almost ghostlike in her swaying demeanor. Somehow this image was comforting. He was able to calm himself somewhat. 

He picked the most conservative clothes he could; a high necked sweater and warm woolen pants. And socks. And a hat, but that made him feel a bit foolish so he settled for a simple jacket.

It seemed Susie had a similar idea, as he entered the dining room and saw her sitting stiffly at the table. Her hair was still a wild blonde halo around her head, and it was clear she’d been crying, and had only just been able to stop. Still. He couldn’t help feeling a bit irritated, at least he'd had the forethought to stop crying before dinner. Despite the delicious looking spread before him, Gabe couldn’t simply enjoy the food.

He was just barely resisting the urge to start throwing things at his stylist, the cat-like woman seeming almost amused at their clothing choices. The woman from the reaping-he hadn’t bothered to learn her name-seemed remarkably unbothered, prattling about some party she’d been to. His mentor was no help, rocking back and forth in the same position she’d been in since the train ride. What a depressing reminder of home.

But among the capitol folk, there was an air of mirth. They found his and Susie’s disastrous debut...amusing. Funny, a great opening to their bloody deaths. He tried to eat, use a distraction technique, take in some calories before possible starvation, but the food tasted like ashes in his mouth. This was too much, this was just open mockery and he couldn’t handle it anymore. He was so _angry._ He couldn’t manage to calm himself. This place was disgusting; these _people_ were disgusting.

He dropped his spoon with a loud clatter, and the low hum of conversation died. He paid them no heed, standing up stiffly, his hands clenched in fists at his side.

“Alright!” He said loudly, ensuring their faces were all turned towards him. “Here’s how things are going to work-you all are going to do your _fucking_ job, and help me n’ Susie live. This isn’t funny, this isn’t a joke. Not to us.”

The team stared, wide-eyed. And the Tigris started laughing. And then the rest of them picked up on it. Susie was crying again. “But it _is_ a joke!” She crowed, standing to face him. He saw red. “You have no chance-”

He lunged across the table and wrapped his hands around her throat.

The table erupted into chaos; someone was grabbing his arm, trying to pull him off, Susie was screaming, they were calling for peacekeepers, and the light in Tigris’s eyes was rapidly fading.

He didn’t let go, because in his experience, someone would always pull him away before the person was dead. And he was right, a sharp pain in his shoulder, and the slow numbing of his limbs caused his grip to loosen. And his vision faded.

_-_

He could feel people handling him, rough and uncaring. He felt the soft sheets of his room in the training center, and cold steel on his wrists. He came to, hating himself, somehow having processed his actions in the strange sedative-induced twilight.

Sure, he was to die. But Cindy, Cath, they had a good long while ahead of them. It was foolish to think his actions wouldn’t affect them in any way. _Fuck._ He felt a wave of guilt so intense he nearly cried out. How many more times? How many more times would he let his own anger get the better of him and make him a fool. He tried to move his arm to run his hand through his hair, but found his wrist clamped down with an iron band. And as he began to panic, bucking against the restraints, he realized there was one around his middle as well.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

His head whipped around to the source of the sound in his haze of fear. His trainer, the ancient District 12 victor sat at his bedside, her unsettling bug eyes watching him, unblinking. Those were the first words he’d heard her speak.

“What-what the fuck going on?” he rasped angrily.

“You’ve successfully classified yourself as a high risk tribute. You’ve lost you free roaming privileges.” She said this casually, as if she were just stating the weather. She’d yet to blink. He didn’t want to keep speaking with her, yet he was hesitant to be left alone.

_“And Tigris-?”_

“Oh she’s no one important,” the woman waved her gnarled hand uncaringly. “She’ll get over herself, but I wouldn’t be surprised if your interview outfits are far more humiliating than the opening ceremony debacle.” They lapsed into silence, the only noise was the bustling of the city outside. “Good for you.” She added. 

"But my friends, my family-"

"They'd have to admit that you are allowed to get to her in the first place. They won't do anything that will make them look weak. I would have choked that bitch out if not for my arthritis. Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you.” He muttered.

“All the same, I enjoyed watching it.” It occurred to him that his mentor might actually be insane.

“Will I still get to-”

“Be in the games? Of course.”

"No...no. Go to the training. With the other tributes.” She smiled.

“Oh, no. You must be watched after all. But that’s why I’m here.”

"Huh?”

“You don’t need to be taught physical things. You’ve got that naturally. It’s your mind that’s solely lacking.” He blinked, confused. "You're clearly intelligent, but far too impulsive."

“Why...why are you helping me?” In his experience, she’d done nothing but rock in place and mutter to herself. She leaned forward, eyes shining, as if sharing a secret.

“Because I think twelve can win.”


	6. The Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edits:  
> \- changed some dialogue

It was only just beginning to sink in how badly he’d fucked up.

Despite what his mentor had said, that he was...for all intents and purposes _set_ when it came to the physical side of the games, training was used for other extremely important things. Forming alliances, sizing up ones competition, and most importantly, _securing sponsors._

And now he would not get that.

The sun continued to rise, no matter how hard he wished it wouldn’t. He had two days, strapped to this stupid bed instead of training for the smallest chance in these games, and he’d ruined it. Fuck. He just lay there for a good long while, ruminating. It was extremely difficult to tell how much time had passed, besides the steady march of the sun, there was no clock.

His father had a pocket watch, a holdover from his glory days in district two. It was utterly useless, and did not tell the time correctly. As a child, Gabe would stare at it for hours. His mother, imparting another one of her strange phrases that ‘a broken clock is right at least twice a day.’ And because of that, he would stare at that cracked glass face for far longer than necessary, hoping for a time when it was right. That strange twilight was familiar to him now, and he could not help feel it now as the sun reached its peak.

He was going to die, he just had to accept that. There was no need to dwell on mothers or fathers or pocket watches. It had been at least a few hours, and he was doubting if his mentor would even come in, or if she'd completely given up on him. Which was fair. She was under no obligation to help him. His mind wandered to Susie. He wondered how she was doing in training. Yet another advantage he lost out on.

At long last, the door opened and he perked up immediately. But it was not his mentor.

It was a boy. Seemingly around his age, pale and thin. He’d never seen him before. “Uh. Hello? Who the fuck are you.” Well, he was terrified in truth, but blatant hostility was better than fear. The boy didn’t answer, moving around the room quickly and briskly, cleaning things with a small red rag. “Are you gonna answer?” the boy did not. When he was finished dusting everything down, he moved to stand in the corner of the room, unmoving.

Gabe jumped as the door opened again. This time it was the mentor, her sickly frame loaded down with comically large books. She raised an eyebrow at the way he was straining against the bands. “I see you’ve met the Avox.”

“Avox?” It sounded like a made up word. But also strangely familiar.

“Traitors to the capitol. Dear things get their tongues cut out and act as servants.” She patted the boy’s cheek and he did not react. Avox. Yes, it was familiar. They’d had Avoxes in District two didn’t they? It checked out. “They’re quite lucky.” He couldn’t help flinching as she dropped the massive stack of books on his lap.

“What are those for?”

“Well, dearest. As I said before, you’re sorely lacking in the brains department.” She leaned forward and released the restraints from the bed. “Put some information into your thick skull if you want to survive.”

-  
The doors were locked, and he was still a prisoner. But then again, he’d been a prisoner since his name was pulled from the reaping. He enjoyed getting to stretch his legs, and found it almost relaxing to be able to do such simple acts as jogging in place or situps. It was a grounding technique, he supposed. Made him feel more alive.

The following two days passed similarly, he learned game theory, psychology, survival tactics, so much _stuff_ , he could barely imagine how anyone could learn it all. Much less a Seam kid with less than 72 hours to memorize it all. Mostly his mentor would sit at the end of the bed, quizzing him relentlessly, and smacking his arm with a fork or a piece of paper, or whatever she happened to be holding in her hand at that particular moment in time. The Avox didn’t leave either, flitting around like a strange ghost, always in the background with his pale lips twisted into a melancholy expression. Always watching.

Not only was she cramming his mind with facts, but she was teaching him a new way to _think_. She tells him its called extrapolation thinking. Adapting quickly to changes in one’s environment, decisively making a plan for the best course of action. Gabe was very good at the decision making part. He was not very good at the part where the decisions had to be good. He wasn’t sure he was really learning anything at all, but it was something to occupy his mind. Something to think about that was not his impending doom. A distraction technique.

On the end of the second day, his mentor left before the sun had set. She explained the following day would be private sessions, and that he’d better get enough sleep because he’d be going second to last. “Impress them,” she said. “Or die.” But like. No pressure or anything.

The Avox did not leave however. He was clearly meant to. But he stayed, shuffling around awkwardly. Gabe wasn’t sure if talking to him was against the rules but...surely harmless questions couldn’t hurt, right?

“Do you...do you have a name?” He asked, sitting on the side of his bed, his chin steeple against his fingers. The boy’s head snapped up, a look of what he could only describe as pure horror on his face. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he promised, giving what he hoped was a comforting smile. “Erm...I know you can’t talk. But here! Point to the letters and spell out your name!” He held out the book as almost a peace offering for how he'd snapped earlier. Most lower districts couldn't write, but reading was fairly common. And this Avox...well he could be capital.

He watched Gabe’s movements carefully, seeming to weigh the pros and cons, before hurrying to his side with the same strange, sharp, movements he’d displayed earlier. He looked over his shoulder fervently, before picking up the book, and motioning for Gabe to look. His fingers slid across the paper, coming to rest at the letters he wanted Gabe to see.

‘ _M. i. c. h. a. e. l.’_

“Michael.” Gabe repeated. The Avox, Michael, was weird. But his presence wasn’t necessarily unpleasant. So Gabe offered him a smile. He returned it, though it looked rather small and strained on his wan face. He then scurried back to the door, leaving Gabe alone to contemplate the strangeness of the interaction.


	7. The Scores

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits:  
> \- changed some dialogue

There was only one real advantage to his absence, Gabe thought as he entered the cafeteria that had been repurposed to a holding center for the tributes; he was a loose cannon now. To the tributes at least. There had been rumors about his absence, from suicide to muder, he heard them all as he took his spot next to Susie.

They weren’t laughing about him anymore, and in all honesty, he preferred their whispers to their jeers. It was something that could be used, could gain sponsors if he had a high enough score!

He tried to grasp lessons form his mentor. Observation. It was important. His eyes roamed across his fellow tributes. A massive, muscled man from eleven. Titus, he remembered. The willowy woman from Seven. The boy from three with cold eyes and quick fingers. They leered like demons in his mind; he did not fear them beyond their immediate physical threat. He could fight, he knew from experience in twelve, his hot headed temper got him into many a fight. He feared the unknown. He did not know what they all could do.

Susie was quiet though and he didn’t mind. He did not want to know how her training was going. He didn't want to know her chances. EVen thinking about it for an extended period made him feel sick. She was just a girl They were all just children. Instead, he focused on the dwindling tributes in the room. Twenty-four. Twelve. Six. Three. Then it was his turn. And he wondered what order they’d be leaving the arena.

He tried not to be amazed by the cavernous training center, but it was a bit difficult, seeing as he had not been there yet. It was massive, with stations ranging everything from wildlife survival to archery. Then he looked up at the gamemakers in their pretty tower. They already knew that he could throw things around. They knew from the incident with Tigris that he was strong enough. He needed to surprise them; he needed to impress them.

He walked stiffly to the edible plants section.

Weeping Flowers are poisonous. But that was not the only plant he knew.

He held up the little mixture he’d made to the gamemakers.

“I invite you to try it.”

-

Susie was sitting next to him on the couch, her owl-like eyes on the television screen. “How do you think you did?” She asked in a very small voice. Gabe raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Fine.”

“What did you do.”

“Strangled the gamemakers.” That was sarcasm, but Susie still gasped in surprise. She didn’t ask him any questions for the rest of the night.

The scores come onto the screen. Susie cried in dismay at her three. Gabe raised an eyebrow at his seven. That for an colorless, odorless poison that would kill instantly? Still his mentor assured that a seven was good. A nice solid score to back up the mystery he’d accidentally built around himself. He excused himself for the rest of the night, trying to squash his feelings as he stared up at the ceiling. One more day. One more day and he’d be in the arena.

There was a strange thing building in his chest that had started when his mentor told him she thought twelve could win. It almost felt like...hope. His chest felt warm as the advice he'd given Susie circled back for the millionth time. _At least try._

He picked idly at the books at the foot of his bed. Would reading them be any help at this point, honestly? He had just made up his mind to skim over some treatise on ancient survival, when the door opened again. Gabe squashed a brief flash of irritation. He’d asked to be left alone hadn’t he? Then he was just confused. “Michael.”

The avox shook his head sharply. Names were...bad? “Sorry.” Michael shrugged, standing at the edge of the bed. “Did you...do you want anything?” Michael bit his lip, seeming a bit uneasy, but he pointed to the books. Ah. He wondered how much entertainment he actually got, being stuck cleaning all day. Did he like to read? Suddenly Gabe wanted to know the answer. “Uh...here.” He held them out, “You can keep them if you’d like. I’ve finished them all anyway.”

Michael’s eyes seemed to light up with almost childish glee, as he picked one up and began thumbing through the pages. It’s incredibly awkward to just sit there and watch him eagerly read. Not that he wanted to interrupt him, but…“Where are you from? Like...what district.” Michael made a small noise, partway between a sneeze and a cry. Gabe realized he was laughing.

‘ _C. A. P. I. T. A. L._ ’

Gabe was...surprised, but he couldn’t bring himself to be disgusted. Michael was a traitor, after all. They had a common enemy. The avox was looking at him now, not the books, gauging reaction. “Well that’s nice.” Michael laughed again.

‘ _no. S. H. I. T. T. Y._ ’

Now it was Gabe’s turn to laugh, but it was strained. Uncomfortable. He couldn’t help but resent that statement a bit. If Michael truly had everything, he shouldn't have been so foolish as to give it up. “Really? I’d think having everything handed to you would make life quite...well, whatever the opposite of shitty is.”

 _’Don’t understand. Cruel._ ’

“I guess...I guess I don’t. But still.” Michael shook his head and went back to his books. Gabe got the sense there would be no more conversation that night.


	8. The Interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits:
> 
> \- a big part of gabe's characterization that I completely left out due to pure laziness, is that he's meant to be charismatic, or at least endearing, so the interview is changed quite a bit

Gabe woke up late on his final day in the capitol, from a strange dream where his mother danced a stilted waltz with his father. He did not recognize the house they were in, but it was familiar. A remnant of his childhood. His mother was humming an old song as she turned to him. “I miss you Gabriel, I’ll see you soon my dear.” He woke up shivering.

Evidently he still hadn’t gotten his ‘leaving the room’ privileges back, despite his brief stint outside for private sessions. He paced around the room, full of nervous energy. Interviews today, the most important day for making the capital _like_ him, especially considering the debacle that had been his opening ceremony. Only problem was that...well, frankly he wasn’t sure he was a very likeable person. Panic had begun to set in as he paced back and forth across the plush carpet. Good lord, his time at the capital had been a disaster from day one, how was he supposed to charm them?

Making friends of merchants and peacekeepers was one thing. All you had to do was complain about Seam kids, and suddenly you were laughing like old friends. But what did the Capital like? What did they _want_ of him?

He nearly had an honest to god panic attack, when Michael entered the room again. For some reason, his very presence calmed Gabe, despite his confusion. He had a tray of breakfast, and he’d not brought Gabe breakfast once since arriving there. Yet Michael pressed the tray into his hands meaningfully, before hurrying away in that quick, jerky way of his.

Gabe was extremely confused as he looked at the food, but everything quickly made sense as he noticed the napkin, covered in cramped blue scribbles. He felt a pang of excitement, a note from Michael in his own words. Not just words he’d pointed out on the page.

_Please destroy this note as soon as you’ve read it. Burning is preferable._

_Thank you very much for the books. I cannot rightly say the last time someone showed me such kindness with nothing to gain personally. It has helped my boredom immensely._

_As for your earlier revulsion towards my capital origins. I was born to a rather low family, and quickly became aware of the disparity in our livelihoods between that and the higher ups. Furthermore, it is how I came to be aware of the horror of life in the districts and first attempted to betray the capital. I can assure you I bear no loyalty to the president, and find no joy in watching innocent children die._

_Gabriel, I do not wish to watch you die. While I realize this is likely already your plan, please try your best to fight and win._

_(And for the record, please don’t let on that I came to see you this morning, if they find I’ve told you any of this, I will be tortured and subsequently executed.)_

_Affectionately yours,_

_Michael Ambrose_

Gabe quickly ripped the napkin to pieces and flushed it down the toilet, unable to find a suitable spot to burn it and trying his best not to let his cheeks burn at the last line of the letter. He had more important things to focus on today; like the interview.

He got the sense that his mentor did not know how to appeal to a crowd either. "What do they want to hear," he asked, spreading his hands. She sucked at her bottom lip, frowning.

"They like it when you like it here. They want you to be grateful for the opportunity I think? It's like a game to them, but you know that. Look, they’ve already made their decisions as to whether they like or despise you based solely on all the rumors flying about. Just don’t go off on a weird tirade and you should be good to go.”

The prep team took over from there, and he had horrible flashbacks to his first night, when he’d been too out of it to really process what they were doing beyond ‘it hurts.’ Thank god his nose, though bruised, did not need to be broken again. All the torture amounted to some light makeup and a plain grey suit.

It seemed if they couldn’t make him look outright stupid, they were going to do the next best thing: make him utterly forgettable. He felt mild relief that he got clothes this time. Susie got the same treatment, he realized as he entered the elevator. A simple long-sleeved grey dress. No accents or anything, that combined with her score in training practically sealed her fate. He tried not to look at the tears that were already welling in her eyes. She looked like Cindy. She looked a lot like Cindy. 

The other tributes were already talking quietly as he exited the elevator, but hushed when he and Susie entered. But they weren’t looking at Susie, they were looking at him. He couldn’t help but feel the smallest twinge of fear. They knew who he was, and they wanted him to know it.

The whispers stopped as they filed onto the stage. Caesar Flickerman introduced himself to the audience, face caked in pale makeup that made him look goulish. Each interview was only three minutes, and Gabe wondered how he was supposed to get anything said in that time.

He kept careful watch of the tributes, since this was really the first time he was seeing them all...express themselves. One and two, strong and brutish. Three, wiry and cruel looking. Titus from eleven, sophisticated but deadly. Susie answered in simple ‘yes’s’ and ‘no’s’, fighting tears the entire time. Then it was his turn.

Gabe stood, careful to keep his face as neutral as possible, at least at first, but couldn’t help the shock on his face as the crowd cheered. He reached out to shake caesar’s hand as he sat. Caesar offered him a friendly smile. “So. Gabriel-”

“Gabe.” He interrupted, returning the smile. The audience loved that, continuing to scream and cheer. Caesar made a very exaggerated surprised face, laughing along. The audience loved that too.

“So, that opening huh? Was that your idea?” Oh wow, yeah that pissed him off. A lot. He hadn’t asked any of the other tributes if the outfits were their idea, because they clearly weren’t. He just wanted to get a rise out of Gabe. He forced his cringe into a smile, the same smile that had charmed many bakers out of their bread.

“And why the hell would that be my idea?” He asked, with just a hint of sarcasm.

“Well a young man like yourself-”

“No. It wasn’t, but I imagine it was for the best.” He nodded, and Caesar rolled his eyes goodnaturedly.

“Well, alright. We hear you, loud and clear.” Caesar flashed a grin to the audience as if to say ‘can you believe this guy?’ “Well, do you have anything to comment about the rumors flying around about you? Some say you tried to kill your district partner before the games even started, and some are saying you’re colluding with capital higher ups. Please, tell us the truth, the audience is simply dying to know.” Gabe leaned back, trying to smooth his face back to neutrality.

“Yes I’ve heard them all. And at least one of them is true.” The audience whooped and hollered at that.

“Oh, come on, you must give us details.”

“No I do not.” He was starting to get frustrated. The audience cheered and he wanted to scream. Or hit something.

"Well, I bet you're quite the ladies man back at home?" Gabe shrugged, he couldn't exactly...deny that. But he was not...not at all comfortable talking about his past _girlfriends_ to an audience who was excitedly waiting for him to die. It wasn't like they'd meant anything anyway, he'd been bored. “What do you have to say about the fact that you might already be a capital darling?” He wanted to say something cruel. Something shocking.

“Well, we’ll see when I win, won’t we?” The buzzer went off, and the audience cheered him off the stage.

-

The last night. It was the last night before the reaping, and Gabe was pacing around in the dark living room of the training center. He was going into the games tomorrow, and nothing he did would change that. He’d been working so hard to memorize what his trainer had given him, while also maintaining his fitness and packing on some pounds, but was it enough? Would anything ever truly be enough to ensure victory?

The fact that he had a decent shot didn't really calm him, if anything it just made him more nervous because that meant the pendulum of fate could swing either way. He couldn’t help but desperately think of Cindy and Cath. Would they be okay without him? Cath had trouble making friends and Cindy would be stuck alone. With their father. No, the thought was too awful to contemplate. No. He had to win.

“Stop pacing.” He looked up and jumped in surprise, seeing Susie had been sitting on the couch the whole time.

“Sorry.”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah.” She suddenly stood up, a woman possessed.

“Please don’t kill me, Gabe.” Susie begged, her eyes wide with tears. “I know I'm gonna die, I know it, I don’t care if it’s anyone else, just not you. I just...I need to believe there are good people still, so I can die at peace n’ all that. Please, just...promise me.” Gabe stared, there were 24 tributes in the ring. Odds are someone would kill her before he ever had to.

“Yeah. Promise.” Susie sobbed, and hugged him tightly.

“Thank you.”

-

He couldn't stand to be in the room with Susie after that, taking to pacing in his room instead. He didn’t want to be alone though, so he took a chance.

“Michael?” The chances of him being awake were low, and the chances of him hearing were even lower. Yet even so, the door slid open and there he was, seeming mildly confused, but smiling. Gabe almost cried out in relief. “Sorry, I know it’s late, I just. I don’t want to-I _can’t_ be alone right now.” Michael smiled sympathetically, moving to sit next to him.

Jesus, why...why was he blushing like this. You weren’t supposed to like someone like this, not after just meeting them. You weren't supposed to feel such delight when they smiled, or got excited over little things like books. Not even two days had he known him, and only truly speaking to him once. Maybe it was the nerves. Or the fact that he was probably going to die in a few days. He’d heard about this, during the dark days of the rebellion. People didn’t know when they’d die so they rushed into relationships. He didn't know Michael's favorite color, or what he looked like when he got mad, or who he considered his friends and how he took his coffee. But he wanted to. He wanted to know everything, Michael made him feel good and...safe, even though his very presence put them both in danger. And yet, he couldn't help himself as he leaned forward and brushed their lips together.

The kiss was soft and hesitant because Gabe didn't have a clue how he would react and, well, he'd never kissed a boy before. Michael didn’t pull away, but he looked absolutely shocked when Gabe did. “I’m sorry! I don’t know why I did that, I-“ Michael shushed him, he was smiling as he leaned forward to kiss him again, this time a bit more fervently, running his hands through Gabe's hair. Gabe smiled dreamily as he pulled back. “Can you…stay with me? Tonight?”

Michael nodded.


	9. Interlude II

_Welcome to the 69th annual Hunger Games!_

District 1

Female: Caelia Nenea (18)

Male: Gaius Cloelius (17)

District 2

Female: Messiena Cittina (15)

Male: Octavio Pulcher (17)

District 3

Female: Memmia Sabina (16)

Male: Cassius Carantus (17)

District 4

Female: Atia Opis (12)

Male: Arruns Sabucius (14)

District 5

Female: Cordia Maja (18)

Male: Appius Manili (12)

District 6

Female: Rayna Merritt (17)

Male: Jayden Stevens (16)

District 7

Female: Val O'brien (16)

Male: Jordan Rees (16)

District 8

Female: Skye Langley (14)

Male: Billy Gordon (18)

District 9

Female: Noel Andrews (14)

Male: Drew Avila (16)

District 10

Female: Clem Martin (16)

Male: Maddox Yates (17)

District 11

Female: Billie Peterson (14)

Male: Titus Fyre (18)

District 12

Female: Susanne Riddle (12)

Male: Gabriel Douglass (13)

-

"I didn't expect you to be so lenient with him." Snow mused.

"He is a bit of a loose canon." The gamemaker agreed, pale with fear.

"And what do you plan to do about it?" The snakelike smile returned.

"We have someone watching him."


	10. The Bloodbath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edits:  
> \- changed some dialogue  
> \- also a divergent reference! i was just rereading that book last night, and I think it influenced me a bit ;)

Gabe woke up the day before he was to be killed, far more relaxed than he had any right to be. Michael was already awake, sitting next to him. Gabe smiled up at him, and for a second, he forgot that the games began that day. That in a few hours he’d be in the arena. A rat in a maze. Michael seemed to notice his change in expression, leaning over to smooth his furrowed brow. His thin hands shook as he spelled out on gabe’s palm. ‘ _Win._ ’

“I will.” he rasped, squeezing Michael’s hand. And he would, wouldn’t he? He had Cindy and Cath and now...Michael. He had no choice but to win. And above all he _would not die._ Michael gave him another sad smile, and squeezed his hand tightly. Though he vowed to come back, this felt like an ending. This felt final.

-

Tigris led him to the rooms below the arena. God, why they let the stylists go with the tributes was beyond him. He would prefer some words of encouragement from his mentor instead of the sullen glares he was getting from Tigris. She was wearing a low v-neck, almost trying to display the bruises on her neck. They were alone in the cramped room. The stockyard. The place animals go before death. He hadn’t been able to eat a single bite that morning, not even one.

The outfit they would wear in the arena was set on the couch. A white linen top, khaki cargo pants and tan work boots. “Hot weather,” Tigris mused. “Go change.” He did, jogging in a circle to make sure it all fit.

 _”Thirty Seconds,”_ The announcer boomed. Gabe’s heart leapt to his throat. Fuck. Oh god. He was starting to panic. Tigris noticed it too, as he stepped onto the metal plate.

“I hope you die.” She said, smiling thinly. “And I hope it’s painful.”

"Go fuck yourself."

The plate began to rise.

“ _Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 69th Hunger Games._ ”

The first thing he noticed was the heat. Tigris was right, god it was hot. Sweat was already beginning to bead on his forehead. For a moment, Gabe worried something was wrong with his eyes. His entire vision was blinding white and spotty, yet slowly, things came into focus.

The familiar ring of tributes surrounded the cornucopia on a flat stretch of sand, various supplies buried in the dunes. There was nothing else. Nothing but white-gold sand for miles. Gabe’s heart rate picked up further, if that was even possible. He wheeled in a frantic circle. Nothing but sand in all directions. _How could this be?_ How could they expect anyone to win this? Did they really want the games to be over within hours, as the tributes hacked each other to death?

_You’re sorely lacking in the brains department._

Gabe took a deep breath, trying not to panic. Panicking meant death. If his certain death wasn’t sealed already. No...this was a show, wasn’t it? There had to be another way to survive. Breathe and make a plan.

To go to the cornucopia would be insanely dangerous, but he was good with hand to hand combat. Chances were that he could snag something he could use. But this wasn't like the harmless wrestling back at twelve, or the games of football he’d play with his friends. He’d have people wanting to kill him on all sides. And yet...he looked around at the endless desert. There were no other supplies in sight. He made up his mind.

The gong sounded, signalling the start of the games.

Time seemed to speed up as Gabe leapt off his platform, watching the others scatter in all directions. He made a beeline for the center, sprinting harder than he ever had in his life. Maybe it wasn’t best to use up his stamina so early, but he _needed _a weapon.__

__Dodging the wiry girl from three, he grabbed the hilt of a matchette buried in the sand. Just the slightest shift of air behind him alerted him to another tribute. Full of adrenaline, he turned and swung._ _

__The matchet buried into the boy’s skull leaving a bloody cavern in his forehead. The wound was so deep, it almost didn’t look real. Not like a cut or an injury, but a strange meaty flower. Blood, so much blood, cranberry red, and hot. It stung where it spattered onto Gabe’s shirt and steamed on the burning sand. The boy and his flower face crumpled to the ground. Dead. Murdered. By him._ _

Gabe heaved into the sand, but he couldn’t dwell on the pure horror for long, as a girl hurled herself at him with a wild cry. She gouged her nails into his arm welling thin beads of blood, but he managed to push her into the mouth of the cornucopia, smacking her head against the edge. She slumped to the ground, but he was unsure if he’d killed her.

Beside the girls prone body was a small satchell which he grabbed and slung over his shoulder.

Another movement behind him.

He turned tensely, in a fighting stance. It was the boys from one and two, golden haired and godlike. Octavio and Gaius. He couldn’t win in a fight between them. But they were smiling. “Watch your back twelve,” Octavio advised. Gabe lashed out blindly behind him, not even looking at the body that slumped behind him, though he shivered. He was glaring at one and two, trying to determine their intentions. If they wanted to kill him, they would have already.

Instead Octavio smiled broadly. “I like you twelve. Good with the sponsors, nice underdog story.”

“Thanks.” Gabe said, curtly, suspiciously.

“Alliance?” Now he hadn’t suspected that. The boy smiled smugly as if he’d just offered Gabe the chance of a lifetime. An alliance? With careers? Some in twelve would rather die; the careers were cruel. Merciless. Insane. But he was not in twelve anymore and all the training from his mentor condensed into this one moment.

“Sure.” Two smiled again, but he did not look surprised. Of course Gabe accepted his boon, why wouldn't he?

“Cool, grab what you want. Four is with us, but anyone else is fair picking.” He examined the blood on Gabe’s shirt critically. “I can see you’ve already helped yourself.” Gabe felt sick, turning away from the two of them.

_Most of the tributes had already scattered into the desert, and for a moment Gabe was confused the sand around cornucopia seemed to have changed to a deep red. But it was blood, so much blood. His head jerked up, trying not to look at it. Look at the sky. the clouds. The sun. Fuck, anything else. He stumbled back, almost tripping over the boy’s body. The boy who he killed._

“Ey! Twelve! Quit spacing out!” Gabe’s head snapped up. 

_How could he? How could he? Distracting was not working. There were dead people. DEAD PEOPLE._

_All that was left was_...to...to stop. To not care. 

To the count of three, and he would let go and keep moving. 

One.

_The boy's skull cleaved open._

Two.

_The girl's nails on his back._

Three.

_Deep breath. Move on._

“Sorry.” Time seemed to have returned to its normal continuity. The other tributes were out of sight, and the male and female tributes from one, two, and four were left. Another intimidating man stood stiffly to the side, Gabe recognized him as Titus from eleven.

The canons began to sound off now that the bloodbath was over. And he’d survived! He reeled as the canon went off. He’d survived. Thirteen deaths in total. Thirteen deaths, at least one of which was directly caused by him. He didn’t want to look at the faces of the dead, partially out of shame, and partially out of fear that he’d see a face he recognized.

But the thing was he didn’t. He didn’t see any familiar faces.

Which meant Susie was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably should mention, if you want to see my art (and know what Gabe n Cath look like lol) go check out my Instagram @a_humble_hovel


	11. The Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits:  
> \- changed some dialogue

Following the bloodbath, it seemed most of the first day was taken up by planning. Dividing the cornucopia supplies between the seven of them so no one needed to stay behind and guard the base. None of them really trusted each other anyway. It was a big group, and disagreements were already breaking out.

Gabe sat under the cornucopia, the only shade in sight. Despite the fact that it was relatively cooler, it was still suffocatingly hot, and he couldn’t resist the urge to probe his own sweat with his tongue, despite the knowledge that the salt would only make it worse. He did his best to rest while the other careers bickered. He knew how groups of string willed people turned out, and it was always best not to challenge the leader. Titus, the male tribute from eleven, seemed to have a similar idea, both silent and observing their allies. He couldn’t help but feel a sort of loyalty to him, both being from lower districts. Of course he couldn’t afford loyalty though. Not here.

“This is ridiculous,” Titus muttered, Gabe looked up in surprise. He’d not heard Titus speak, and his voice was smoother than he expected. He dipped his head in agreement. “They’re being so stupid, arguing like it will change anything. Why not split up? Have one group handle the murder, and the other handle the water.”

“Because they don’t trust each other.” Gabe scoffed. “The group going after water would take it for themselves, ‘specially cause we’ve split all the supplies. Only thing keeping us together now is…” he waved his hand at the mouth of the cornucopia. “The shade.”

-

Caelia, the female tribute from one, seemed hellbent on going after tributes. “It’s hot as fuck,” she argued angrily. “They couldn’t have gone far.” She wasn’t wrong. It was hot. Hotter than he’d ever been. Gabe absently wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as he watched his allies…and his opponents, mull over a plan.

“We need water.” Octavio snapped. Despite going through everything in the cornucopia, there was no water. Plenty of food, plenty of weapons, medicines and bedrolls, but no water. So they were better off then any tribute in the arena, but that wouldn’t last long.

“Yeah,” Arruns said angrily. “Calm your tits Caelia.”

“No,” Gaius said firmly. He seemed to have proclaimed himself the unofficial leader of their merry band, with his ten in training. Yet his uncompromising stance only seemed to invite challenge. “We won’t be left alone for long if we don’t give ‘em some entertainment.”

“We’ll die.” Octavio said.

“Our sponsors will give us water,” Gaius shrugged. Arruns bristled.

“This isn’t a _game._ ” he gestured at the blood spattered around the cornucopia, divets in the sand still left from the limp bodies of the dead tributes.

“You think I don’t know that? More kills, more sponsors. Get over yourself.” Gaius’ tone was calm, but he pointedly examined his axe as he spoke. Arruns glared but backed down. He didn’t know the dynamics of the group well enough to know who would have his back. “Twelve. Keep an eye on two, go west. I’ll take four and eleven.” Without another word, Gaius dislodged his axe from the sand and walked away. Arruns followed, hands flirting across the knives on his belt. Internal conflict, it seemed.

-

“Five is out. So’s Seven, Nine, and Ten. The girls from Three, Four, and Eleven. And the boys from Six and Eight. So eleven tributes left.” Octavio mused, as they headed across the sand.

Gabe was beginning to see the practicality of blankets. They’d been walking for almost half an hour, over rolling dunes of loose sand, and after only the first fifteen minutes the sun was unbearable without some sort of buffer.

Heat. Endless heat. He was constantly aware of how dry his mouth was, and the back of his neck blistered despite the blanket he’d wrapped his head in. He couldn’t imagine how other tributes could spend an entire day here with no shade or relief from the hot air.

“Five of them are with us.” Messiena from two added.

“Hey, Gabe. Have any…thoughts?” Octavio suddenly said. It occurred to him that they were trying to get him to speak, and probably had been for a while.

“No?”

“Oh come on,” Octavio said jovially. “That stuck-up ass isn’t here, you can at least try to be friendly.”

“I’m not killing you right now, isn’t that enough?” He said, increasingly angry that they were making him waste energy. Messiena tensed at that, but Octavio laughed as if it was a joke.

“I suppose you make a good point.” He suddenly cried out, disappearing from the horizon. Gabe jumped back in shock, instinctively grabbing Messiena and pulling her back with him.

“Let go!” She snarled, squirming out of his hold. She was _strong._ Good to know.

It didn’t explain why Octavio had suddenly disappeared with no canon shot. He tread forward carefully, until his foot no longer touched ground. He peered over, confused,

The dunes dipped down in a waterfall of sand, onto a rocky plateau several feet below. Octavio was groaning at the bottom of the slope.

“Not a word,” he grumbled. Messiena giggled, and it was the first happy sound he’d heard her make. She jumped onto the dune, sliding down as if she were a child at a park. Gabe followed more carefully, against his instinct to quickly sprint down the dune. He knew he needed to ensure there was a way back up.

The sudden change in terrain was weird, but welcome, as his feet didn’t sink into the stone like it did sand. But even weirder, as he looked up, there were claws.

Well, not claws exactly. But massive, jagged spikes of metal, arching out of the ground to the sky.

“What the hell…” he murmured. The spikes were hot in the sun, but their shadows could offer shade which meant…he pulled out his machette. “There are tributes here."

“How do you know?” Messiena asked, suspiciously.

“It’s to the west, your back would be to the sun. The ground dips. Closer to the ground, so it’s cooler. Plus water flows downstream.” Octavio regarded him with grudging respect, Messiena with blatant suspicion. He was surprised he’d remembered this much from his lessons, though he wasn’t one hundred percent sure the facts he was rattling off were for deserts or deciduous forests. Still, it never hurt to be cautious, especially now.

“So we’ll be careful.” Messiena finally said, hoisting her pack over her shoulder, and moving to the front. Gabe brought up the rear, more than happy to let the group from two deal with the threats. They were definetely better trained.

And it was good that they did, too.

He barely had time to register the movements in front of him, before Messina was wrestling the flailing, scrawny boy to the ground, slamming his head into the rocks over and over, as blood and gory bits splattered her. The boy gurgled, but no canon sounded. He was the boy from three, twitching faintly on the ground, but not dying. Why wasn’t he dying?

“Where’d he come from?” Octavio wheezed, recovering from the shock first.

“From the spike. He just…he just jumped out at me.”

“Does he have anything good?” Messiena shrugged, roughly hauling him over, and ignoring his moan. Her face lit up, examining a wicked, curved scythe.

“Yes he doooes!” She sang, tucking it into her belt. Octavio seemed pleased, but Gabe for his part felt sick. Not only at the gory sight in front of him, but only truly seeing how deadly and unfazed these people were. He’d gotten a sample of it at the cornucopia, but here, seeing Messiena’s casual cruelty, it was on full display,

“Does he have any water?” He rasped.

“Uh. No. Just the clothes on his back, and this beauty,”

“Good we took him out now. Poor bastard would have suffered,” Octavio mused. _He’s still suffering!_ Gabe wanted to scream. Instead, he walked over and deftly slit the boy's throat. His lifeblood spilled out as he gurgled one final time before the canon founded. Second death. _One. Two. Three. Onetwothree. Let go. Think of Cindy._

“Hey!” Measiena cried angrily. “You stole my kill!”

“What-?”

“You’re fucking with my stats!” Before he knew it, the blade was out, and she was about to pounce.

“Wh-he was suffering!”

“Doesn’t mean you can-“

“Look!” Octavio cried suddenly, pointing at the sky.

A silver parachute drifted lazily from the cloudless blue, seeming almost blurry in the heat. It landed with a thump at Messiena’s feet, emblazoned with a big ‘4.’

“Consolation prize,” she snapped, leaning forward and undoing the silver straps. Then slowly, her face fell.

“What is it?” Octavio prompted.

“…water.” Gabe’s stomach dropped to his feet.

“Oh good! Good, I’m thirsty,” Ovtavio laughed.

“No, don’t you get it?” Messiena whispered, horrified. Octavio shook his head, clearly not...getting it. She held up the water, wide eyed. “Sponsors don’t send shit that’s already in the arena. There’s no water here.”


	12. The Leader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits: changed some dialogue

“So…what now?” Octavio said dully, after they’d all taken a swig from the bottle. It was a gallon. Only one gallon, already lukewarm.

Gabe swished the water around in his mouth thoughtfully. They didn’t have to go back. They had water now, and supplies. But his relationship with Messiena was shaky at best, and he didn’t trust her not to shank him in his sleep. Plus, the cornucopia was good shelter. As counterintuitive as it would be for Octavio and Messiena, it would be safest for Gabe to go back to the careers. With five other people, he’d be less of a target. But that didn't mean he wasn't constantly biting his lip, wishing he could punch someone.

“We go back.” He said firmly. “Safety in numbers and all that. Longer we’re all in the arena, more likely people are picked off for us.”

Messiena nodded. “Plus shade, we can stay in the cornucopia.”

So it was decided, they began the treck back. The sun was beginning to dip under the horizon, and Gabe was surprised. Either much more time had passed than he thought, or the game makers were purposely messing with the day and night cycle. At any rate, it was a relief, as the walk was easier without the relentless sun.

Or it was, until the cold set in. Fuck…

He remembered reading that deserts could become cold at night. At first, it was a relief, but as his body adjusted to temperature he began to shiver. The blanket that he adjusted around his shoulders helped, but it was still utterly frigid, and he could see his own breath.

-

“We were beginning to think you weren’t coming back!” Arruns crowed, jokingly, yet there was relief in his voice. He did not like Gaius, and was glad for allies in that. Messiena seemed to almost fade into the background, and Gabe took his place next to Titus under the cornucopia. The metal was frigid now, but he was able to grab an unused jacket and a pair of fingerless gloves from the pile no one wanted. They’d be good to protect his hands, especially considering how many metal objects were in the arena.

“No fire?” Octavio joked.

“There’s no wood,” Caelia snapped, “you know that.” Octavio held up his hands.

“Did you find anyone?” Gaius asked, shoving forward.

“The boy from three.” Gaius nodded.

“Good. We got about…ugh. A mile out. And there was nothing but quicksand.”

“We found a area with more spikes.” Octavio shrugged.

“Spikes-?”

“Yeah these great big towers of metal. Just buried in the ground, they were like ten feet high. It was crazy.”

Gaius nodded, before seemingly noticing Messiena’s parachute for the first time. He marched over, wrestling it out of her hands despite her protests. “Well! What’s that? Water? Were you planning to share?” His eyes were cruel as he looked at Octavio and Gabe. There would be consequences for this. Gabe’s knuckles were white as he clung to his jacket sleeves to avoid making a face.

“One sip. Everyone gets one sip or I fucking kill you,” Messiena finally snapped. Despite the uneasiness everyone seemed to feel, Gaius was unbothered, grabbing the bottle and chugging. Before he even knew what happened, Messiena had lashed out with her sickle and Gaius’s head fell to the sand with a wet sounding smack. His body slumped to the other side slightly slower. _Onetwothree._

Gabe watched disappointedly as the water dribbled into the sand.

-

Messiena didn't appoint herself leader after that; probably smart call for her. She simply faded back into the background, while Arruns took over...whatever Giaus had been, with a renewed focus on getting water. He didn’t seem to believe their story of not having any. Caelia was clearly angry, but she remained silent.

After the anthem blared, showing the fifteen tributes that had died, Gabe couldn’t sleep. It was important to sleep, but he was surrounded by six lethal killers and the metal under him was freezing cold. He was covered in sand and dried blood, and now all their water was gone. Besides physical discomfort, he didn't really want to close his eyes and see a repeat of the days events.

He was a murderer now. _Onetwothree._

He sat up, giving up on sleeping, because he was either about to start panicking, or worse, crying. And that would not do.

Octavio was apparently on watch, idly sharpening his spear. He looked up and smiled when Gabe sat next to him. How he managed to show any sort of joy was utterly beyond him. “Hey twelve. How ya holding up.”

“Fine.” He shrugged, looking away, trying to avoid Octavio's gaze. Octavio raised an eyebrow at the but when back to his spear.

“Messiena isn’t trying to kill you, you know.” Gabe looked up in surprise,

“Yeah, she’s impulsive and pissed. But she doesn’t want to kill you any more than the rest of us.”

“How do you know?”

“We’ve been friends forever. I know…you haven’t seen her at her best. But she’s a good person.”

“She killed that boy.” Gabe snapped, angrily.

“No. You did. And you killed two people at the cornucopia, so don’t act all high and mighty.” He snapped, running a hand through his hair agitatedly. “Ugh. Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just…we don’t enjoy this you know? They want us to. They want us to feel guilty and force us to bond.” He didn’t specify who 'they' were but he didn’t need to, “We just want to go home. And this is the way to do it. It’s not right, but it’s all we can do.”

Gabe didn’t respond, but he understood. _They_ understood. Even the careers understood this was wrong, and if they could disagree with it, but still participate…so could he.


	13. Interlude III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits:  
> \- like one scentence

As an Avox, Michael tried very hard not to think of anything as _his._ Most things were not his. His food and clothes were courtesy of the capital. His room was courtesy of the capital. The very fact he remained breathing at all was courtesy of the capital.

The day an avox's tongue was severed from their mouth and they were sent to the bowels of the capital, they forfeited all rights to self, to having things. 

And yet he couldn’t help but think of Gabriel as _his._ He didn’t know the man particularly well, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t absolutely euphoric to see him survive past the first day. He had killed, but he wasn’t a _bad person.  
_

Most people from the districts were not bad people.

Despite his little thought exercise, he had no delusion that he could have a future with Gabriel. He did not imagine the two of them in a house in victor's village, snuggled together by a fire, finally able to communicate because they'd made up some form of sign language. He did not imagine it. Even best case scenario that Gabe was the victor, he’d never be allowed to take a capitol Avox back to twelve.

He figured he’d find a bullet in his skull one of these days. There were cameras all over the capital, and the peacekeepers seemed awfully interested in him lately.

He didn’t regret meeting Gabe though. It was awfully nice to have something that was just his. He missed it.

-

“What you did at the opening ceremony was just unacceptable,” Snow chided his cousin. 

“You gave me district twelve as a demotion,” Tigris snapped, clearly agitated.

“And so you humiliated them? Come now, we both know their chances of winning are miniscule. But to make a mockery of the cherished tradition we both love…I thought you were smarter than that dear Tigris.” Snow ran a hand through his hair tiredly. “You’re ugly. Whatever you’ve done to your face doesn’t suit the games anymore. Still? You’re family and I wanted to let you remain a part of this cherished tradition. But this is unacceptable. Simply unacceptable.”

”What are you saying…?”

”You will not be a stylist next year.”

-

Cath figured she’d find a bullet in her skull one of these days. She wasn’t sure what Gabe had done, but the peacekeepers seemed to be awfully interested in her lately.

She wondered if it was just by virtue of him surviving. No one had expected twelve to last this long, to survive past the first day, that was almost unheard of. And she’d brutally beat anyone who questioned him joining the careers.

Surprisingly, not many people did.

He had given twelve hope, and that was a dangerous thing.


	14. The Shifting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits:  
> \- changed some dialogue

“So there are three tributes left that aren’t with us,” Arruns said. “The girls from six and eight and-“ his voice trailed off, trying to remember.

“The girl from twelve.” Gabe said.

“Right.” Arruns agreed. “The girl from twelve. So it’s not likely you’ll run into anyone just...keep an eye out I guess. And be careful about...other traps. We still don’t know what’s out there. Two, you both, one and eleven, you guys go back to the spikes. See what you can find. Twelve, you’re with me.” That was smart on Arruns part, Gabe mused. Not giving them a chance to form any meaningful connections with the people they’d been with the previous day. Gabe motioned for Arruns to follow him as he headed out into the sand.

If anything, the walk was far worse than it had been the previous day. At least then he’d started out hydrated. Now he was exhausted and dehydrated. The sand seemed to cut at his face like shards of glass no matter how tightly he secured the blanket, and sweat stung his eyes. The time ticked by sluggishly and the sullen silence he was getting from Titus didn’t distract him from his own mind enough.

“Do you have sand back in four?” Gabe ventured. Outside of books, he’d never seen so much of the stuff. Though if he got out of the arena, he hoped to never see it again.

“Er, yeah. We’re fishing. We got beaches.”

“Mm.” Gabe almost preferred dirt to sand at this point, he realized. Dirt didn’t make little cuts all over you or sting your eyes. “What...what are they like?”

“Big. Salty.” Damn. Arruns was not giving him anything to work with here. He didn’t want to ask the more emotional questions. He didn’t want to know if Arruns had a family back home. That would just make things harder.

“Got a favorite...food?”

“No.” Alright! Great. Back to silence. He ground his teeth irritatedly, leaving a bloody cut in his mouth that stung from the sweat dripping into it.

“What the hell?” Arruns murmured, finally breaking the silence. They slowed as they came upon a sea of quicksand, the noticeably darker patch of dirt bubbling in the sun. “I thought we went your way.”

“We did.” Gabe said, an uncomfortable feeling writhing in his gut. Arruns kicked at the sand in frustration.

“We won't find anyone here. Learned that yesterday.”

“Let’s head back.” Gabe agreed. “Straight line, so we won’t get lost.” Though he had a sick feeling that wouldn’t help. In all directions, the sand was exactly the same. There were no landmarks once the quicksand disappeared over the horizon.

The sun beat down on them as they walked, and Gabe was thirsty. Really, really, thirsty. His vision was almost blurry. And he knew, if he killed Arruns, he’d get water. He wouldn’t of course. That was what the gamemakers wanted. But that didn’t mean his hand didn’t rest on the hilt of his matchette at the thought. And he hated himself for it.

The sun had begun to dip over the horizon, when Gabe realized how truly lost they were. “We walked out in a straight line.” He said, almost to reassure himself.

“We did,” Arruns agreed.

“So this is…”

“The arena changing.” Arruns finished.

“Alright, let’s find a place to set up camp.” Even as he said that, he knew it was stupid. With no landmarks for ages, they’d just be sleeping in the middle of the sand, completely exposed and in the open. Arruns sighed heavily, dropping his bag on the ground, and slumping down.

“‘Night.” Gabe figured this meant he’d take first watch, keeping his heavily watering eyes from closing. It was odd that Arruns trusted him he supposed, put a lot of faith in the career alliance. Trusted the way things usually w ent, and though he wasn’t willing to allow Arruns on watch, he wanted to sleep as well. He sighed miserably as the anthem came on. No one had died, but hopefully the incredibly gory first day would keep people entertained.

Gabe was awake. He was awake until he wasn’t.

His dreams were filled with Gaius's disembodied head, somehow stuck onto his own neck. No matter how he screamed, every sound was muffled and only the taste of iron filled his mouth. Then the hissing started, horrible jeers from everyone he knew. Cath, Cindy, Michael, his Father, President Snow, all raking their claws down his bloody, weak body, mocking him.

He woke up with a noise that was halfway between a scream and a sob, shuddering. He knew he was awake, because his blistered shoulders hurt like hell. But the hissing hadn’t stopped.

Why hadn’t it stopped?

But he understood when he raised his head to see Arrun’s swollen, purpled face, frozen mid-scream, dead.


	15. The Snakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gabe sweetie, im so sorry
> 
> Edits:  
> \- dialogue changes

Gabe fought his urge to move, his limbs trembling. He was only inches from Arrun’s stinking, putrefying face, baking in the sun. The boy’s once handsome lips were puffy, fused together in a horrifying mass, leaking yellow puss that stank. The sight was burned into his eyes, all he wanted was to push it away and run. But he couldn’t move, because all around him were snakes. Hideous, scaly, cloaked monsters. A writhing, hissing ring, coiling all around him baring their fangs. He couldn’t help the whimper of fear. _Onetwothreeonetwothreeonetwothree._

They had killed Arruns and they were clearly venomous. The only reason he had stayed alive this long was...well he assumed because he hadn’t been moving. He remained frozen. His back was blistering in the direct sunlight, the pain and dehydration making him feel incredibly woozy. He couldn't tell if the snakes were moving closer or it was simply a result of their constant undulating movements.

He wanted to cry, but was terrified to waste water. His resolve disappeared, when he felt the cold scales scrape against his wrist. He shuddered, tears streaming down his cheeks, all his willpower going into staying still. The hissing seemed to be getting louder, but he physically couldn’t tell if they were or not. The smell of Arrun’s corpse was becoming unbearable.

But the snakes wouldn't move away, why wouldn’t they _move?_ He was stuck. Stuck sniveling on the sand as they circled him like sharks, eager for a meal. Except they wouldn’t eat Arrun’s body. Why wouldn't the hovercrafts at least take him away? He shook with panic, and the exertion of keeping himself still as possible. He hadn’t been in a comfortable position to begin with, his arm already going numb. He was in hell, an endless hell where all he knew was the overwhelming noise of snakes, the smell of burning flesh and the burn of sand.

_Only one other time in his life had he stayed so still._

_He was only fourteen, somehow got himself trapped on the wrong side of the fence. Of course it was a personal rule of his to never to go out of sight of the fence. And yet he’d gotten lost. Pulled along with the promise of ripe berry bushes and clean snow he could melt into fresh water. He hadn’t asked Cath to come with him._

_He didn’t even realize how far he’d gotten until he heard the low growl of a feral dog._

_He’d instantly frozen, becoming a solid block of ice, not even daring to breath lest the beast be alerted to his presence. As his lips began to turn a bluish purple, he felt the dog was gone, risking a shuddery breath._

_He never again entered the Meadow alone after that._

He wondered if the hissing was quieting was due to him finally losing his mind, or if they were truly starting to go away. But it was the anthem blaring that made him realize the day had passed. It was dark and the snakes were retreating, sinking into the sand as if they had never been. He curled in on himself despite his aching limbs. _One, two, three. Cindy. Cath. Michael_. He didn’t even hear the footsteps approaching him.

Honestly, they could kill him now, with ease. He almost wished they would.

“Holy hell, you’re alive?” Octavio gasped.

“And he didn’t kill Arruns.” Messiena mused in quiet amazement, nudging the purplish, swollen mass that used to be their ally. Titus made a grim face, and Caelia openly puked onto the ground. Gabe buried his face in the sand, unwilling to let them see him cry. He was pathetic and he wondered why they didn’t just off him.

“Look at his back,” Octavio said, and suddenly his world was ablaze in pain. He cried out, thrashing away from Octavio. Just a career. Just another monster who wanted him dead. “Hey, hey,” Octavio held up his hands placatingly. He was acting like Gabe was some sort of wild animal, and honestly at the moment he was. He’d kill them both if they touched him again, without a second thought or even the slightest remorse. “Your back is burned, I didn’t realize it hurt you so bad, that’s all.”

Why were they helping him? He was a liability. A failure. He’d allowed Arruns to be killed. It would make their lives easier if they just...ended him right then and there. “Hey assholes!” Messiena shrieked to the sky. “He needs something for his fucking back! We’re all burning!” She shook her head when the sky remained an indifferent purple.

“What happened to Arruns?” Octavio finally asked. Gabe shook his head, swallowing hard. His throat felt like sandpaper.

“Snakes,” He whispered.

-

They’d staked out the path to the Cornucopia with bits of shredded fabric held down by rocks.

“Course it wouldn’t help if the gamemaker’s wanted to change the arena again,” Octavio huffed, as he hauled Gabe along. “But I dunno, peace of mind. We were on our way to kill you actually, thought you took out Arruns but nope!”

Apparently while he’d been wallowing in the sun, they’d taken out the little fourteen year old from District Eight. He didn’t ask how they’d done it, he didn’t want to know. “Not much of a challenge,” Caelia had frowned, seeming disappointed. They still hadn’t seen any trace of Susie, or the girl from six.

Thankfully, the girl’s death had afforded them water, from Caelia’s sponsor if the big ‘one’ on the parachute had anything to do with it. No one commented on how much water Gabe drank, and no one commented on how he scrubbed his hands until they were raw and bled. He wanted pain in a different place than his back, and it seemed the only help they were receiving from sponsors was water anyway.

No one bothered him for the rest of the day, heading out to hunt, and probably hoping something would pick him off before they got back. Gabe, for his part, lay on his side in the cornucopia, staring out at the sand, staring at the blinding gold, until it was all he could see. Until he could replace Arrun’s bloated, disfigured face in his mind.

He’d cried.

He’d shown weakness. That was bad, probably one of the worst things one could do. 

It was evening again when his allies returned. They still kept a fair distance and it utterly mystified him why they hadn’t taken him out yet. Did they no longer see him as a threat? That was fair. He hadn’t spoken much since the day prior. Perhaps he was their living water bank; keeping him alive for whenever their supply ran out and they could simply kill him.

God. Water. Everything in this arena came back to water didn’t it? You killed for it, and even when you got it, it was carefully engineered so that your mouth was always dry. So that it was never enough and you had to kill more.

“Twelve.”

Gabe started when he saw Octavio, fully expecting this to be it. He was going to die now. But Octavio simply sat next to him. “Are you alright?” That was surprising.

“No, not really.” he rasped, sitting up, and scooting away defensively.

“Yeah. Actually. Stupid question.”

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Octavio seemed genuinely shocked at that question.

“Twelve, trust me. You’re not in any danger till we get rid of the lower districts. And even if I am planning on killin’ you, doesn’t mean I want you to be miserable for your final days.

-

No one’s face flashed in the sky that night. Gabe couldn’t sleep. He was angry. So anngry. There was no refuge in dreams, anyway. But the next morning when his allies awoke, he was standing by the mouth of the cornucopia, sharpening his machete. There was something here he could fight. Something he could fix.

“Two left, right?”


	16. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhh sunburn blisters are literally. so gross  
> Edits:  
> \- dialogue changes

The following two days consisted of hunting throughout the arena. Following Arruns’s death, the others were understandably reluctant to head out alone. The larger numbers made it difficult to be stealthy though, and they didn’t find any other tributes. And they had to be hiding too, because the arena was far smaller than they originally believed.

About an hour and a half out from the Cornucopia to the West was the quicksand. It stretched as far as they could see, and curved around until it melted into the strange field of spikes. A whole day was spent traversing the plateau, but it yielded nothing interesting, because they came upon a massive cliff face that had no obvious way to scale it. So they were boxed in, and they just had to find their prey.

Gabe for the most part was doing well, aside from freezing in fear when they came across a rattlesnake. Octavio dispatched it wordlessly and no one brought it up. It likely wasn’t the same type that had killed Arruns, something in its round vacant eyes bespoke of stupidity and lacked the almost unnatural sharpness of the others. He still hated it, and brutally dissected it with his matchette. It would make a decent dinner.

His allies seemed a bit nervous around him, even respectful, treating his sudden calm like the eye of a hurricane. Like any moment he might lose it. He figured he probably did look a bit insane, he was a sight. His shirt was smeared with blood (though they all were, as they wouldn’t dare waste water on something as trivial as a shirt), his face was spotted in little cuts and his eyes were far too bright. His arms were the worst, though. They’d turned red, with grotesque yellow blisters speckling the surface. A far cry from the smooth skin his stylist had been so eager to show off. 

This was so odd to him, the glory of the games that the capital constantly praised was nowhere to be found. This was quick and bloody and dirty, surrounded by death on all sides. He hated the desert and he hated his allies even more, because they had to die for him to live. Arruns was gone, and no one really seemed to want to step up. Octavio’s naturally more exuberant personality seemed to single him out, but he made it clear he wanted no sort of leadership.

Gabe wasn’t willing to take that risk either.

There were two tributes left who weren’t in their alliance. Perhaps that meant the games were going by quicker than normal. That made sense, considering the extreme circumstances of the arena. And despite the fact that it had only been six days, it felt far longer.

“Alright. Let’s get this over with,” Octavio said dully, one day three. Any sort of fun that had come with hunting the other tributes only seemed to decrease as it became increasingly clear they would soon be turning on each other. “Susie is thirteen, got a three in training. Not a threat.”

“She’s survived this long.” Caelia pointed out, seeming a bit agitated.

“By hiding.” Messina defended Octavio. “She’s tiny. And if we see her, it’s a mercy to take her out.”

“It’s true.” Gabe spoke up. “She’s really not a threat.”

“Rayna.” Octavio continued. “Got a seven in training. We need to be careful.”

Gabe wasn’t particularly worried though, there were five of them and only one of her.

When they set out again, it took a good few hours of wandering to get back to the spikes. It seemed like the gamemakers were simply fucking with them at this point, not moving the arena enough to truly inconvenience them, just to make them hotter and tireder. Morale was at an all time low, considering that morning they’d run out of water, and it was an unspoken fact that if they didn’t kill someone, _soon_ , they were fucked.

Gabe felt utterly foreign trying to speak to Messiena, Octavio, or Caelia, and only found any comfort by walking next to Titus. He’d never seen the man from eleven kill anyone, and for all intents and purposes he seemed like a decent guy.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Titus murmured, glancing back at him.

“Hm?”

“Having to listen to them expound on how...oh it’s hard for them too, they don’t want to be here. It’s bullshit. Two-” he pointed at Octavio. “Volunteered. They’ve been training for this their whole lives and they act like there’s no disadvantage for us.” It was clear this was something that had upset Titus for a while, so Gabe just let him vent, absentmindedly picking at the scab forming on his burned arm and trying not to pop a blister.

“Yeah. Guess so.”

“It’s unfair. This whole fucking system is unfair!” Wow, Titus was getting...really worked up.

“I agree,” Gabe said placatingly, he supposed there wasn’t much that the capital could do now that Titus was already in the arena, but a lifetime of censoring his own thoughts still made him nervous. Titus glared ahead determinedly, and didn't bother to speak again, perhaps sensing that Gabe would not be a useful ally in his pointless crusade against the capital. After all, Gabe mused, hadn’t he technically killed for the capital already? Every death in the arena really only served them. Not him.

Because he was rapidly starting to realize that there was no way out of the arena. Sure, you could be the victor. You could live, but part of you would always die along with the people you killed. He supposed someone with a greater will might refuse to kill. But he was more determined to survive than live.

The feeling of cold metal sliding into his back made him cry out. Octavio, Caelia and Messiena whipped around, with looks of horror on their faces. Messina let out a desperate cry, hurling her axe at him.He wondered why she was trying to kill him, until the axe flew past him at something behind his shoulder. His body spasmed, trying to adjust for this new appendage protruding from his stomach, as blood spilled onto the stones.

His own blood.

His vision clouded quickly as he slumped to his knees and onto the sand. The canon hadn’t sounded yet, and despite the deep ache in his chest he was still conscious. He wanted to be in the shade as he died. _Why were they just leaving him there?_

“Oh, fuck,” Octavio mumbled from a million miles away.

“Should we finish him off?” Caelia asked.

_Please. It hurt so bad._

“No.” _Fuck Octavio and his sentimentalities_. “We don’t have time, she’s getting away, come on!”

_He hoped they cleaned up the blisters before his funeral._

-

He could hear his mother humming softly, a covey song he didn't recognize, stroking his sweaty hair away from his face. He had died, and now he was with his mother. _It was so hot...He ached all over, and was still in so much pain, but unable to move._ Still, he allowed himself to feel at peace, and truly admit how much he had missed her. His mother, who couldn't handle the cold, was now somewhere warm.

In district two there was no story about the afterlife. You did your best in your time, and then you passed. But in twelve, they liked to say there was a meadow you would go to, when your hard work had ended. There was a soft bed and warm food, and a home where your family would wait for you and forgive all you’d done to get there.

He hoped that was where he was now. Somewhere warm and safe, with lots of flowers.


	17. The Girl

He was hot and he was cold, he was sweating out a horrible fever. And his stomach wouldn’t stop hurting. Was this hell? Was he really in hell? In Two they’d had access to books from before the war. The people who drew the winged people and the horned monsters believed in hell. They believed if you were bad that you suffered for all eternity.

He had killed three people.

But he hadn't had a choice!

Did that really make him bad?

Sometimes he was awake, unable to move and trapped. A prisoner in his own dying body. Sometimes he was in the penthouse from his childhood, on his mother’s lap watching the sun rise. He almost thought those moments of reprieve were worse, because he’d return to the burning, aching state before. Was this it? Was this his existence now?

But there were moments, moments where he was partially aware. He was not comfortable, he was propped up on hard stone. Someone who was not his mother bandaged and cleaned his wounds and burnns, and it frightened him. It was so much easier to return to his memories. But slowly, those reprieves, those brief moments with his mother happened less and less. He was becoming more aware.

He was in the Hunger Games.

He had been stabbed.

He should be dead.

Why was he not dead?

One day, he opened his eyes. It took a moment to adjust, but he was propped against stone, hidden away in some strange, cave like structure. There was a woman crouched in front of him. He flinched away, but doing so caused him to hiss in pain. The woman turned.

“Susie,” He gasped, his voice thick with relief, and grief, and something he couldn’t name.

“You’re awake,” She said, her face splitting into a smile. “You had me worried there for a second.”

“Where...where are we?” He rasped. His throat felt like broken glass, and he winced as he spoke. Susie quickly moved to his side, cupping water in her hands. He didn’t question where she got it, drinking gratefully. Some part of him, some stupid, childish part wanted Susie to tell him they were safe. They were not in the games anymore. That they were somehow back in twelve. Susie didn’t tell him that.

“The tunnels. Underneath the spires.”

“Huh?”

“All the spires have tunnels under ‘em. I found them on the first day. I’ve been hiding out ever since.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the crisp, white bandages that encircled his stomach. “What happened?”

“She hurt you real bad,” Susie said softly. “I couldn’t let you die.”

“Who?”

“The girl from six…” Ah. Rayna. He knew she was dangerous.

He tilted his head back, aching. “How’d you do it though…”

“First aid kit. It was all I got from the cornucopia. Came with bandages, stitches. Some plastic.”

“How did you get the water?” Gabe suddenly asked, leaning forward.

“See this sheet of plastic? When it goes really cold to really hot super fast, lotsa dew collects on here.” Gabe nodded, equal parts impressed and irritated that he hadn’t thought of it.

“Well. Thank you. For saving me.” Susie smiled a little.

“We had a deal, ‘member? Besides, you’re from home. If we’re both alive, well. Better chance for someone to get home to twelve.” He nodded. Susie continued to surprise him. She was surprisingly resourceful and he could not imagine how she’d only received a three.

“So...you’ve been here since the start?”

“Mhm. It's awful boring. But...it’s bettern’ being dead.” Her voice trembled as she said that, clearly still a real fear for her. Dead...the other tributes.

“How long was I out? Who else died?” Suddenly he was incredibly melancholy at the thought of his allies being...well, dead. He did not care for them. He did not particularly...like them. But the idea that fiery Messiena, stoic Titus, and bright Octavio could already be extinguished was just...too much to bear.

“It’s been mmm. Four or five days. I’m not sure what’s on with the other tribute, but the careers must be havin’ an awful lot of trouble with her. No one else has died.” Gabe slumped with relief, exhaling softly. “So where’ve you been?” Gabe cringed, in twelve, being a career was just about worse than death. But Susie had seen, hadn't he? It was pretty pointless to lie.

“I was working with the careers.” Her face soured slightly, but she didn’t say anything.

“I ate your food.” She finally said. “I haven’t had anything to eat since we got here. I wanted to wait for you but…” At that, Gabe’s stomach grumbled. He realized how hungry he was. Like...ravenously hungry. The kind of hungry that twists your insides and makes you dizzy.

“Yeah. Um. No problem, we can get food.” He hadn’t searched for food, not paying attention to what grew in the shade of the spires. He’d been spoiled with the cornucopia’s bounty. But now? He had to actively look for the bundles of plants tucked into the dirt of the desert. The tunnels were in the shade, but surely there was enough dirt for some weeds to grow. If they knew where to look.

-  
As much as it pained him, and his growling stomach, Gabe couldn't go out into the tunnels. First of all, they were too small. Sitting up, his head brushed the roof of the tunnel. Second, he was still weak and could barely even sit up without feeling dizzy. Susie in her infinite, angelic patience went for him. She crawled back with basically every single sprout she found in the tunnels, so that she could go back for the other ones.

“Mm.” It was disappointing. The few plants she had managed to grab were almost dead, though his eyes did light up at the cactus. “Yeah we can eat this one.” Susie smiled holding up another, that looked similar, but not quite.

“This one too?’

“Oh Jesus Susie, don’t eat these,” He swatted her hand away from it. “They’re Peyote. Will make you go crazy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The juices make you hallucinate all sorts of nasty things.” She nodded sagely, pushing the little plant away as if just touching it would drive her crazy.

That evening they stuffed themselves with Pear Cactus, and watched the sky before Susie set up her dew trap. No one had died.

-

“I miss twelve.” Susie said softly, the next day.

“Yeah. That’s understandable.” She sniffled, swiping at her face. “Hey now, don’t cry. It wastes water.”

“You lived in the seam right?” Susie finally mumbled. He examined her curiously. The petite features, blonde hair and blue eyes. She was from the merchant district.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“Can you...I dunno. Can you tell me about it?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Stuff.” She tucked her knees under her little chin. “Tell me about your friends.”

“Erm. Okay.” He scratched absentmindedly at the bandage. “My best friend’s name is Catherine. But everyone calls her Cath.”

“Oh, I’ve seen her.” Susie nodded sagely. “She’s very scary.” Gabe couldn't help but choke out a rather strangled laugh.

“I guess. Yeah. But she’s a really nice person. And a good friend.”

“Well that’s good.”

“Yeah. She likes to break rules though. She’d climb over the fence when it wasn’t electrocuted, just to see how fast she could do it.”

“What fence?”

“The one by the meadow.” Susie looked quite horrified by that implication. “One time it was electrocuted. She saw me on the other side and just started yelling like crazy.” Susie gasped.

“How’d she get out?”

“Oh, we just waited till the power went out. That stuff doesn't last in the seam.” Susie huffed.

“My ma gets mad when the power goes out. Says its out fault for using too much.”

“You got siblings?” Susie smiled.

“Oh yeah. Baby sister named Lucy. She’s only three but she has the prettiest eyes you ever saw.” Gabe smiled softly.

“That’s a real pretty name.”

“I know. I chose it myself.”

-

As the days went on, Gabe got stronger, till the point that he could crawl through the tunnels along with Susie. Their supply of Cacti was running low. They had steady access to water, but without food...

The careers didn't have water without killing other tributes, he knew that. He and Susie could simply outlast them. (Though at this point he doubted that. They must have found another source because it had been almost a week, and none of them had died yet.) But he didn’t know what Rayna had. And if it came down to him and Susie. Well, there was no contest. Something had to give. And soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be the last chapter where gabe is at least semi-mentally stable. So uh. Enjoy  
> Edits: dialogue changes


	18. The Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits: Changed some dialogue

He’d stayed with Susie a total of eight days, if you counted the time he spent asleep. Whatever...magical capital drugs she’d gotten in that first aid kit had helped a lot. He was not entirely healed, but the fact that his guts remained inside his stomach at all was impressive.

“D’you think they’re gonna be looking for ya?” She asked on the eighth night. “The careers?”

“No. Well...maybe. I don’t know.” Would they bother looking for him? If they found him, would they kill him just for surviving? He had no clue what condition they were in.

“I hope they don’t.”

“Go to sleep, Susie.”

-

He didn’t fall asleep that night, gnawing at his own lip.

_Breathe in. One._

Messina slamming the boys head on the stone. The blood splattering everywhere. Everywhere. It was still caked under his nails.

_Breathe out. Two._

The boy’s face as Gabe’s matchette cleaved his skull in two. The flower that sullied his beloved meadow.

_Breathe in. Three._

Arrun’s face, bloated and purple, screaming eternally.

_Breathe out. One._

The knife sliding into his own gut.

He stared at Susie’s face, angelic in sleep. She did not have to die in pain. She trusted him. She trusted him for a reason. She knew he’d do what was best for her. He wasn’t that bright, but even he knew that whatever end awaited her outside this cave was not a pleasant one.

For some reason, his breath seemed to get louder in his ears.

He had to do this.

His hands didn’t shake as he took out his machete, and she did not wake as he slit her throat. He shuffled back as the blood pooled at his feet, sniffling softly. The canon sounded dully, and Gabe let out a shuddery breath. It was far too easy to end a life.

Susie’s rosy cheeks had paled greatly, as he leaned over and kissed her forehead. “See you later,” He mumbled. He couldn’t stand to stay there with her body. He crawled towards the light out of the tunnel, hissing with pain at the sun that still beat down painfully.

His vision slowly adjusted, as he turned in a circle. He was by the spikes, near the cliff face. He shuffled around a bit miserably. _Where could he go?_

He didn’t want to go back to the cornucopia, but in his weakened state he needed the support of the others if he was to take out Rayna. So off he went.

He did not think. He did not feel. Or cry. Or panic. _One, two, three._

His arms burned. He didn’t have the blanket anymore. He’d grabbed Susie’s first aid kit and some of the food from earlier. As the sun set, the familiar sight of the cornucopia came into view, as well as the remaining careers, who were standing in a rather hostile formation. They certainly looked worse for wear, gaunt and tired.

“Stop,” Messiena hissed, as he approached, brandishing her axe. Gabe held up his hands, heart in his throat. She chewed on her lip, looking him up and down like she was seeing a ghost. It was the water, wasn’t it? It was always the damn water. He was weak now, and they were desperate. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you. Right here, right now.”

“You don’t want to kill me,” He said softly, staring down Messiena’s axe. “Because I know where Rayna is.” Messiena’s eyes widened, as if he had told her she could win the games early. The axe dipped hesitantly, before coming to rest at her side.

Octavio’s face melted into relief, as he rushed forward, hugging Gabe tightly. “We thought you ditched us man! How are you even alive?!”

“Girl from twelve,” He said, “she helped me. I just took care of her.” Octavio’s face paled at the lack of inflection in his voice. “How’re _you_ alive?”

“We figured out that uh. You don’t have to kill someone. For water.” Octavio murmured, holding up his hand that now had only three fingers. Gabe was almost glad he’d gotten stabbed when he did.

-

It was cold. Brutally cold as always. Gabe had resumed his position by the cornucopia, after explaining in broken sentences about the tunnels. Titus had joined him after a moment, and he almost laughed. It was like the first day all over again.

“Hey twelve,” Titus said after a moment. “I have an idea. You know, like...about what I was saying the other day.” Gabe raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” Titus gestured at the other careers.

“They don’t know what it’s like to suffer. To really suffer,” Titus scoffed. “You and me, we’re the same. We get it.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Tonight. We kill them all. Split the loot between us, and then it’s really only down to us and Rayna but we can outlast her. From there...may the best man win.” Gabe felt vaguely out of his body at the casualness with which Titus discussed murdering his allies.

But then...hadn’t he done that already? And it wasn’t a big deal, after all…it was just a game.

His body seemed to move without his consent, nodding mechanically.

“Sounds like a plan.”

-

He couldn’t look at Susie’s face in the sky that night. He and Titus exchanged glances, as he offered for Gabe to take watch.

“Ready?” Suddenly it seemed like a very bad idea. His hands shook. _He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t. He couldn’t._ But. he could feel his pulse beating frantically, and suddenly the idea of it stopping-the idea of no longer being alive, it was unthinkable. He had to win.

“Yeah.”

He hesitated as he approached Octavio’s sleeping form, unable to line up the blade properly with how bad his hands shook. That was what did it; the boy’s eyes snapped open, and let out a bewildered cry as Gabe leapt upon him and dug the blade in. It was a cruel kill, he hadn’t meant for it to be so messy. He pulled away, paralyzed, watching the closest thing he’d had to a friend in this arena die. He was in shock, even as Octavio’s desperate, gurgling cries woke Messiena.

She stated in dismay at the bloody scene around her. This wasn’t meant to happen, careers were meant to stick together until everyone else was dead-this wasn’t supposed to happen. Her shock disappeared as she saw Gabe kneeling over her friend, quickly gathering her wits and leaping at him.

Her blade never struck home though, as Titus knocked her to the ground. She fought wildly, swinging her scythe blindly, slicing him across the shoulder and forcing him away,

She scrambled to her feet and sprinted away, gone without a trace.

“Fuck!” Titus shouted, clutching his wound. “Fuck! She got away!”

“Yes.” Gabe agreed. “But she won’t go far. She has no supplies. No water.” Titus nodded shakily.

“Look. Speaking of water.” A parachute fell from the sky, an eleven emblazoned on it. Gabe frowned slightly. Now that he thought of it, he hadn’t received any water for killing Susie. That made him a bit uncomfortable.

“Let’s split up the supplies,” Gabe said.

“Fuck.” Titus repeated, glancing at Caelia. “Should we...should we have a funeral for them?”

“Why?” Gabe snapped. “They’ll get a funeral in the capital. Best one that money can buy.”

“Yeah but...they sacrificed themselves for us. Feel like we should at least apologize.” Sacrificed? Gabe's lip curled. No. This was murder, and the fact that Titus didn't have the decency to accept that he was unforgivable infuriated him.

“You apologize if you want. I’m tracking down Rayna.”

Titus extended his hand, smiling thinly. “May the best man win.” Gabe nodded, and shook it, desperately hoping Titus didn’t notice the food he laced with Susie’s peyote as he strode away into the desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A real feel-good chapter


	19. Interlude IV

He just killed them all. 

Without seemingly the slightest hesitation or tremor in his hands.

She couldn't believe this was the same stupid, sweet boy she'd known only a week earlier. Maybe it wasn't. Gabe didn't... _hurt_ people. Maybe he got into some fights but...not this. She thought he'd wait, wait it out. Kill one or two if strictly necessary. But not this. Never this. 

She'd asked him to come back though. Logically, this was what she'd asked for.

Cath was terrified.


	20. The Cannibal

True to his word, Gabe headed out to track Rayna. The matchette felt heavy in his hands. Heavy. Weighing him down. He couldn’t help but feel he’d be ten pounds lighter if he could simply wash the blood from his hands and nails. The desert spilled out endlessly, an illusion of distance, and offered no answers.

He wondered if he’d win.

It ached to return to the spires. So much blood, from him, from Susie, from the boy from district four. It would never be washed out either, and capital citizens with their ugly, sneering faces would return year after year. Even if he didn’t win, even if he died, they would still crawl into the tunnels where he’d killed Susie, look with mild interest at the snakes that killed Arruns. Even if he died here, death would be his legacy.

Time passed but he didn’t really feel it.

He made a circle around the entire arena, and sleeping was easier now. He had no one to watch his back, but no one in close enough proximity to kill him. The arena felt much larger when scouring it alone. Circles and circles. Was it day? Was it night? He didn’t know. He drank when his vision filled with spots and ate when the pain became too great, but other than that he made no progress.

Eventually, he returned to the cornucopia. It was almost as if...he didn’t know what to do with himself beyond return to the sight of his kills. Maybe he was planning to have a funeral as Titus said. But he would never know.

Because as he came upon the bodies, he was shaken to his core. His mind spun in horrific acrobatics, trying to comprehend what he saw.

They’d been eaten.

Or more accurately, were in the process of _being_ eaten. Exposed bones and sinew contrasted pearly white with muscle and tissue. They’d been bled dry, but apparently the flies didn’t know that. God there were so many flies...an undulating, buzzing carpet that covered each body. Gabe emptied his stomach into the sand, horrified. Sure, he’d seen some bad deaths but this? God, they usually allowed tributes some fucking dignity.

Were there wolves in the arena? Why hadn’t he seen?

Why hadn’t the hovercrafts come to collect the body? The only reason hovercrafts left bodies in the arena was if...if a tribute was still near them.

_The bite marks in Caelia’s hand were human shaped._

Gabe reeled back with the realization, scrambling back in the sand as if physical distance from the bodies would cancel out what he just noticed.

The Peyote. It drove you mad with hallucinations. But he hadn’t expected this. He’d just wanted to sabotage Titus! Not...not this.

There was a rumbling in his ears.

It was getting louder. He cried out, pressing his hands to either side of his head, rocking back and forth catatonically. _Out, out, out, he wanted out._ He couldn’t do this. Not anymore. The rumbling was so loud. It shook him to his core and made his teeth ache.

Someone sprinted past him, a dark blur.

Gabe flinched away, but...they weren’t after him. He looked up, just as the wall of sand began to descend.

He ran.  
-

_An avalanche._

That’s what it was, gallons and gallons of sand, rolling from the quicksand pits, and it didn't stop. All of Gabe’s supplies were swallowed in the golden wave, along with the bodies of the careers.

He ran.

His arms pumped frantically, sweat pouring down his back. His instincts had taken over, ushering him to high ground.

But all he could think were the spikes. It seemed the other tribute, Messina, had the same idea. As he approached the field of spikes, he could see her, perched delicately on a curved shard of metal that arched out of the sand.

Gabe ran for one, leaping onto it.

Metal in the sun can get very hot, painfully hot. Gabe prepared for the pain, but if anything it felt cold. Which probably meant he had overloaded his nerves.

Frantically, he tugged himself to the top of the spire.

Just in time too, as the sand rushed below him. He squeezed his eyes shut, crying out in pain as the shards of sand buried deep into his flesh, his ears, his nose, his mouth. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but hold on.

And then it was over. Well, there was still sand under them, but it was moving slower, and he could sit up hesitantly.

Gabe blinked up at Messiena, whose face was now speckled with cuts and bleeding profusely. So was his, he supposed, raising his hand to touch his face, before flinching away. God.

His hand was burned to hell, red and shiny. His gloves had protected his palms in some places, but in others the rough fabric seemed to have fused with his skin. He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t feel them at all. He couldn’t feel his hands. That was a bad sign.

The sluggish river of sand continued throughout the night, as the anthem played.

Rayna and Titus appeared in the sky. He glanced at Messiena.

 _Well_ , he thought. _Well_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all ready for the showdown
> 
> 0///0


	21. The Victor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits:  
> \- Dialogue Changes

The sand seemed to have retreated back into the desert from whence it came, leaving strange, patterned rivulets in the ground below.

“Right,” Messina called. “Let’s get this over with.” Gabe nodded, sharply, shaking with adrenaline. This was it, one way or another, this was his last day in the arena. Carefully, he slid down the length of the spire, paying particular heed to his hands that could no longer feel the rough metal beneath him.

They stood on opposite sides of the flat patch of stone in between them. Despite all the death, despite the killing, it felt...awkward. Even as Messiena walked forward and slashed half heartedly at him with her scythe, and he parried clumsily with his machete. It doesn’t feel real. Like death couldn't come to him. Not _him_.

Messiena brandished ehr scythe, despite her shaking legs, her arms were sure and steady.

His heart rate picked up properly, as he lunged forward with far more aggression than Messiena had. For all her grand training, she had not expected a good old fashioned bludgeoning. He hit her skull with the butt of the machete, she sliced back, reopening the wound on his stomach. He howled in pain, stumbling back into the spire.

Pushing himself off, he swung at her again. His machete buried into the side of her thigh with a sick squelch. At the same time, she hacked away at him, gouging his left eye. The blade hit home, and he cried out, blindly slashing as his left side became a curtain of blood.

Her scythe bit into his skin, over and over again, and he was just swinging. Frantic, and adrenaline filled, they were both losing far too much blood.

But.

He had more.

With a wounded cry, he managed one final plunge of his matchette into her neck, before collapsing.

Messiena fell to the ground. Dead.

Gabe stared at the sky, in a pool of his own blood. From his right it was blue. And it was red on the left.

He’d won. He’d won.

_“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to announce the victor of the Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games, Gabriel Douglass!”_

-

In his misty, half blue, half red vision, a hovercraft materialized. He was bleeding copiously, as he stumbled towards the ladder. The electric current that froze his limbs was almost a relief, because he could not stand on his own.

The door closed under him, and he slumped to his knees, shivering.

The hovercraft was full of peacekeepers and he almost laughed. Surely, _surely_ they didn’t expect him to be a threat? And then he saw what they were guarding.

A thin, dark haired Avox. With a gun to his head.

Gabe’s lips had only just formed Michael's name when they put a bullet through the his skull.


	22. Interlude V -(visuals)-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the following images were created by me (just for fun) using Art Breeder, which can be found at https://artbreeder.com
> 
> please check it out, its a fantastic free resource!

**The 69th Hunger Games Arena**

****

Despite tributes beliefs, there were many ways to obtain water in this arena, including but not limited to, cacti, animals, condensation, and dry river beds, with water close under the surface.

**The 69th Cornucopia**

Unique in that this year, the cornucopia contained no water. 

**The Spike** **s**

Aptly named by the tributes, the 'spikes' were actually crashed Rebel Ships, undisturbed from an old battlefield.

* * *

**Characters**

**Gabriel Douglass**

Unfortunately, his nose was his only redeeming personality trait.

**Catherine Harrison**

****

Will steal your knees, for a good cause.

**Mallory Douglass**

Current Occupation: Token dead mom

**Susanne Riddle**

She deserved better.

**Michael Ambrose**

****

:(

**Tigris Snow**

****

Crazy cat lady to the extreme <3

**Titus Fyre**

Just a cool guy, didn't mean to hurt anyone except for that one time. 

**Messiena Cittina**

Our favorite final girl <3

**Octavio Pulcher**

I just...I miss him, man...

**Arruns Sabucius**

****

Hot take, he should have won :(

**Gaius Cloelius**

****

Does anyone like...remember this guy?


	23. The Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit:  
> \- dialogue changes

The animal, guttural scream that ripped from his throat was not his own. He scrambled forward, desperately pulling Michael’s limp body into his arms.

“No, no, no, _please_ ,” he wept. This was so much worse than the arena. This was worse. _Michael didn’t have to die._

The avox’s pale body shook with his final breaths as Gabe cradled him against his chest. Michael’s face was rapidly losing color, as it lolled to the side. “Please,” he begged. “Stay with me, please, I won. I told you I would,” Michael’s lips formed a faint smile, as he died.

Gabe looked up at the peacekeepers furiously. He didn’t know what he was about to do as his muscles tensed, and he would never know because the needle jabbed his back. He slumped forward over Michael’s corpse, losing consciousness.

-

Gabe came to in a plain, white room. There were no doors or windows, only his bed. His arm was hurt with the amount of tubes springing from it. It reminded him of the hospitals in two and he relaxed.

His entire left side was dark, and he hesitantly reached up. Where his eye had been, was a scarred build-up of skin over his eye socket. Messiena had struck hard and he had lost an eye. His chest tightened painfully as memories began flooding back.

He was the victor! The victor, and now he could go home! Home to Cindy, Cath. _..Michael._

He had not loved him, and it would be lying to say he did. He didn’t even know him particularly well. But he’d been a kind soul, a good person. Innocent, and he was dead because Gabe had been clumsy and stupid and selfish. The message seemed clear enough. Fuck up, and we take those you care about. He knew, logically, that it had happened to other victors who had...rebellious tendencies. 

His remaining eye welled with tears. He wasn't sure he could move one from this, it _hurt_. Far more than any blade could.

The wall slid back and an Avox entered. She was a stranger and he frowned slightly as she placed a tray of food before him. “Fuck off,” he muttered darkly. She nodded, and left.

He ate. And slept. And ate and slept.

Through the days, he seemed to be getting stronger, and one morning he woke up to see the cords were not in his arm anymore. He was able to sit up properly in bed.

He was almost afraid to look at his own body, surely it must be burned and wrecked beyond recognition. But as he reached out to pull back the covers he realized he could feel.

The shiny, ruined skin on his hands had been replaced. He ran a hand through his hair, down his chest where the scar from Rayna had disappeared. At the foot of the bed was his outfit from the arena, cleaned of sand and blood. It looked wrong without the blood.

He dressed slowly, it was far more difficult with only one eye. The wall slid apart into the hallway. And waiting at the end, the prep team. Tigris. But not his mentor. Where was she?

He walked slowly down the hall, surprised to find his steps steady and firm, none of the hesitation he felt.

“Where’s my mentor?” 

“Yuliah died. The day of the bloodbath.” Tigris said, Ah. That would explain the lack of any aid in the arena. He felt a bit bad that he’d never learned her name. “She was very old. She died at peace in her home.”

“Ah.”

“Come with me, I’ll get you all ready.” Tigris’s walk was heavy with disappointment and he was reminded again how much she wanted him dead.

His own appearance was foreign to him.

Besides the thinness and the sickly pallor of his skin, the sunken crater where his eye used to be was quite…gross. Despite the lack of scars, there was a noticeable change in the skin from his chest to his back. The pink, new-born baby stuff seemed to have been newly grafted on. He hoped Tigris would chose something to cover it.

It was nice, he thought as the prep team bustled around, to have other people talking. Other people who weren’t trying to kill him.

The outfit is once again simple. Coal black, with a red tie that gives the illusion of dripping blood. How fitting for a victor.

Tigris helps him along to the platform, and he wished it were Yuliah.

“Don't sound too horrible,” she said, smiling meanly as the platform rose.

The anthem threatened to overwhelm him as the platform rose. The crowd went insane, cheering and screaming as he stood. He was just standing there, feet shuffling, unsure what to do. He felt like he was back in the arena again, except this time without the sureness that he had plunged forward with. He was exhausted despite all the time he’d spent laying down in the past few days. He wanted to go home, more than anything. Wasn't that the deal? He won! He'd won, and now he was meant to go _home._

He couldn’t force himself to smile as he sat down on the victor’s chair, and faced the audience. That seemed to delight them though. Good, less work for him.

Caesar begins the show with a tribute to Yuliah Gray, the final tribute from twelve before him. A strange woman with a kind heard who took pity on Avox’s and tributes alike.

And then the three hour recap of the games.

Gabe turned to stone as he watched himself kill. Again and again. It’s a story of an underdog this year, but as Gabe watched the movie, he realized there was no world in which he wouldn’t have won.

This year, the careers were drunk on power. It had been so long since another betrayed their allies, they simply didn’t expect it. It was only a matter of time before someone was willing to shake up the way things were done, someone who didn’t care that they had to give up all morals and decency. Apparently someone like him. _One. Two. Three._ He felt ill. Ignoring it wouldn't help, there was no immediate threat to his life. He had to process it now. Everything.

As he watched, he almost felt like a separate person from that crazed, murderous man on screen. It felt as if everything that had happened in the arena seemed like a dream. Something too wicked, too cruel to ever imagine he’d done it. But he had, that was the thing. He’d done it, and if he was being honest he’d do it again. That was what the arena did. It exposed you worse than any situation. Broke you down till you weren’t human anymore. Didn’t feel any allegiance to anybody or anything but your own beating heart.

As the movie came to a close with him killing Messiena, the anthem swelled. President snow, a lithe older man in his sixties, came out brandishing the victor’s crown. It settled heavily on Gabe’s head and he felt dizzy.

Gabe felt utterly alone in the massive, whirling vortex of the endless parties and banquets he was forced to. He ate, drank, but he didn’t talk, he couldn’t. Through the night he was jostled, touched, spoken to, screamed at.

And he fell into bed that night, dreading the morning. An interview. But then, home.

-

He sat before Caesar as the man cracked stupid jokes. Was he trying to make Gabe laugh? It wasn’t working.

“So, it seems you’ve come back. Will you answer the question I posed earlier?”

“Which one? You asked me a lot of questions.”

“Your opinions on the…capitals opinions of you!” Gabe sighed. He had to give them something.

“I...hope they know...I did what I had to. I didn't want to die and I...I'm looking forward to going home."

Caesar frowned to the camera. Gabe’s expression didn’t change. “Well! Worth the wait!” He said sarcastically. “So let’s talk about your allies!” Gabe sank into his seat shamefully. “Four people in total betrayed; one of em’ from your district! Wowiee! How didn’t that make you feel?”

“Not great.”

“Well!” he laughed.

Gabe clammed up and refused to answer any more ‘stupid’ question. He felt like an obstinate child and was certain there would be consequences for this, but fuck. He was exhausted. He didn’t want to answer them.

-

The train was waiting for him, and he felt dizzy. There would be no one accompanying him, since Tigris was staying in the capital and Yuliah was dead.

It was surreal as he entered the train and he wondered at it. Only a few weeks before had he entered with his goodbyes still on his lips.

The platform at twelve would be filled with cameras, so he took the opportunity now to cry.


	24. The Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits:  
> \- Dialogue Changes

Cath came to the train station to see her friend. This seemed like a good way to dip her toes back into knowing her friend.

She wasn’t given a good spot, she wasn’t any more important than his family members. Then Cindy, the small girl stood straight backed and polite with her pale hands clasped in front of her. And his _father_. The peacekeeper who’d probably slept through most of the game. Her lip curled.

Still she glanced up with anticipation as the train rolled into the station. It seemed the entire crowd held their breath, the general conclusion was that Susie should have (and would have) won had Gabe not killed her, but at the same time they were glad for a victor.

The door rolled open, revealing their victor.

Gabe stepped out, but she couldn't look at him. She _couldn't_. She wanted to cry. She did not know him. She did not know this finely dressed man. That was not her Gabe. Gabe would never let his father cross over the platform and clap his shoulder in pride.

-

Cath fled the platform, and stayed in her home for the rest of the day. Yes, she could go to the meadow, yes she could seek support from her family. But she preferred to grieve privately. Her friend was dead. He was _dead._

Her father didn’t speak as she picked listlessly at her food. He didn’t have to, he understood. “It’ll be okay Catherine,” he said comfortingly, patting his daughters hand. She shook her head tearfully.

“It won’t. Not for a while.”

She stayed on the couch that night, far away as possible from her family’s one room bedroom. She wanted to be alone. There was an emptiness that set heavily on her chest. What would life in twelve look like now, without her closest friend?

Her tears had dried on her face by the time she drifted off, but she was rudely awoken by a knock at the door. Cautiously, she approached it and nearly had a heart attack.

Gabe made an imposing figure, absolutely fucking terrifying with the pale hollow of his eye that gleamed in the moonlight. She looked over him critically, he still had the same tousled dark hair, the same stature. Same…eye. But his nose was different. They fixed it.

“Hello.” She said coldly. Ow. It hurt her heart. But if she was being completely honest, she was scared. She’d seen him kill. So much. With barely the slightest expression or tremor in his hands.

“Can I...come in?” She moved aside, letting him walk in.

He looked so awkward sitting on the couch that was much too small for him. He’d been over to her house so many times and yet it was different now.

“You killed them,” Cath said. It wasn’t an accusation, just a statement of fact.

“Yes.” He said. “You saw?”

“Would you have tried to hide it from me?”

“No. I just didn’t want to have to say it.

“But you were fine with _doing_ it?”

“No, of course not!" He scoffed. "You know me, I wouldn’t-I don't-” he caught himself, shaking his head frantically as if trying to dislodge something. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to. To s-say I’m sorry.”

“What? Why are you apologizing to me-?”

“There are only a few people whose opinions I care about. You’re one of them. And…the things I did w-were _unforgivable._ But I want y-you t-to k-know I—” she cut him off, hugging him tightly.

“Shut up, just shut the fuck up you moron! You think I’m mad about what you did in the arena?”

“Y-yes?”

“Oh my god you’re so stupid, you’ve always been so stupid,” she was crying again, rocking him back and forth in her arms. “I thought they took you from me,” she wept. “I thought you were gone, I was so scared.” He looked up at her, wide eyed. “Gabe I don’t hate you, I’m not mad at you.”

His face crumpled. “Y-you should be,”

“I’m not. And I won’t tolerate anyone who is,” she said firmly. “You got back to us. You lived. That's what we asked for.” Gabe nodded, shivering. “Come here you bastard.” She held him tightly. “I’m not letting you go, ok? Ever again.”


	25. Epilogue - Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits:  
> Dialogue Changes

President snow gazed out his massive bay window. The weather was changing, he thought with a shiver. It was around time for the victory tour, and he could tell the boy from twelve would be a perfect pawn, too worried about hurting his family any further to cause any 'hope.'

Quintus Ambrose had done exactly as he promised.

The gamemaker sat expectantly, watching Snow pace. He was waiting for a verdict. So Snow gave him one.

“He was a dangerous one. But I highly doubt we’ll see any further threat from twelve in the future. It’s a dissatisfied district, that takes careful steps to placate. It’s always important to ensure their victors are not sympathetic.” He nodded sagely. “You and your son did well.” Quintus seemed to sink with relief. “Speaking of which, how is Michael?”

“Oh, he’s right outside actually.”

“Let him in, I want to thank him in person.” Quintus nodded, getting up in the quick and jerky manner that was so characteristic of the Ambrose’s. His son entered the room, changed from his avox disguise to a more fitting outfit, a bruise on his forehead from the plastic bullet. It had not been real, but it certainly left a mark.

‘ _Good evening president snow_ ‘, Michael signed. That seemed to delight the president. Quintus’s son, who was mute not due to any Avox surgery, but rather a natural birth defect. He clapped Michael on the shoulder with pride.

“Panem thanks you for your service my boy.”

Michael smiled.

-

He was running, he was always running.

Sweat stung his eyes, and the gash in his side, and he couldn’t stop. His vision began to blur but he was running. His feet churned through the earth and he was still running. He was running from something not someone.

-

Gabe woke up with a start. He was drenched in sweat and shivering. The nightmares never really went away. And though he knew he was in no real danger this year, the people he cared about certainly were.

The smell of coffee wafted into his room. Probably left over from the other morning. He sighed, taking a swig out of the flask he kept on his bedside table.

Alcohol was a sweet trap that sunk its claws into most victors. Gabe fell willingly.

It had been…what, three years? Four? Six?

He lost count. It didn’t matter, every memory was seared into his brain with a hot iron brand.

He stumbled into the kitchen of his dingey house and poured himself some coffee. It was reaping day, and anything that would keep him awake for the onslaught of _hell_ he was about to experience was well worth it. He winced at the flavor. Days old. Maybe weeks.

He stepped onto the front porch, examining the empty neighborhood. No other victors from twelve, it was lucky he won when he did or the new tributes would be mentorless. (Not that he was much help.)

He’d tried in the beginning, really he had. But there wasn’t…much he could do. They just kept dying. So he turned his efforts into something he could control.

Gardening. Perhaps the capital wanted a more flashy talent, something more dramatic and violent befitting of their victor.

The capital could kiss his ass. He never wanted to be a revolutionary. He didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. He already panicked enough when one of his plants was near death. He just wanted to protect his friends and family. It was easier to focus on this than anger, and it did not put those he loved in danger.

-

The square was cold, and Gabe wished he’d put on something more substantial than a grungy undershirt. The mayor droned on endlessly. Blah blah.

_Pick the names. Just get it over with you bastard._

“I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!” A frantic scream rang through the crowd. Gabe looked up just in time to see Cath hurl herself into the square.

And just like that, his world shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOOO ITS DONE ITS DONE!
> 
> I’m so happy to have gotten to write this and it was so much fun! 
> 
> My friend Mystic_Ender has written a fic set in this same universe, so if you want more of Gabe and Cath, check it out here! (She’s already working on a sequel!!!)
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27498061/chapters/67239439


	26. Sequel

Suppose I can’t leave well enough alone, so check it out ;)

[Gathering Storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945650/chapters/71024985)


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